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. 


A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES 


BY 


CHARLES  DICKENS 


Edited 
With  Biographical  and  Literary  Notes 


by 


JAMES  WEBER  LINN 

The  University  of  Chicago 


GINN  AND  COMPANY 

BOSTON     •     NEW  YORK     •    CHICAGO     •     LONDON 
ATLANTA     •     DALLAS     •     COLUMBUS     •     SAN  FRANCISCO 


..■-." 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
GINN  AND  COMPANY 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 
G24.3 

Gift     x>MbHs&€* 

£vw^...wi*  deft* 


gEbe   gtftenatum   gregg 

GINN  AND  COMPANY-  PRO- 
PRIETORS •  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


S.C. 


PREFACE. 


-K>4- 


Whex  I  was  acting,  with  my  children  and  friends,  in 
Mr.  Wilkie  Collixs's  drama  of  The  Frozen  Deep,  I  first 
conceived  the  main  idea  of  this  story.  A  strong  desire 
was  upon  me  then,  to  embody  it  in  my  own  person ;  and  I 
traced  out  in  my  fancy,  the  state  of  mind  of  which  it  would 
necessitate  the  presentation  to  an  observant  spectator,  with 
particular  care  and  interest. 

As  the  idea  became  familiar  to  me,  it  gradually  shaped 
itself  into  its  present  form.  Throughout  its  execution,  it 
has  had  complete  possession  of  me  ;  I  have  so  far  verified 
what  is  done  and  suffered  in  these  pages,  as  that  I  have 
certainly  done  and  suffered  it  all  myself. 

Whenever  any  reference  (however  slight)  is  made  here 
to  the  condition  of  the  French  people  before  or  during  the 
Revolution,  it  is  truly  made  on  the  faith  of  trustworthy 
witnesses.  It  has  been  one  of  my  hopes  to  add  something 
to  the  popular  and  picturesque  means  of  understanding 
that  terrible  time,  though  no  one  can  hope  to  add  anything 
to  the  philosophy  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  wonderful  book. 

624.3  iii 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION 


Page 

vii 


Chapter 
I. 
II. 
III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 


BOOK  THE  FIRST.     RECALLED  TO  LIFE. 

The  Period 1 

The  Mail 4 

The  Night  Shadows 11 

The  Preparation  ........  16 

The  Wine-Shop 30 

The  Shoemaker 44 


BOOK  THE  SECOND.     THE   GOLDEN  THREAD. 


I.  Five  Years  Later     .... 

II.  A  Sight 

III.  A  Disappointment   .... 

IV.  Congratulatory    . 

V.  The  Jackal 

VI.  Hundreds  of  People     . 

VII.  Monsieur  the  Marquis  in  Town 

VIII.  Monsieur  the  Marquis  in  the  Country 

IX.  The  Gorgon's  Head 

X.  Two  Promises      . 

XL  A  Companion  Picture 

XII.  The  Fellow  of  Delicacy 

XIII.  The  Fellow  of  No  Delicacy      . 

XIV.  The  Honest  Tradesman 

XV.  Knitting 

XVI.  Still  Knitting 


58 

66 

74 

90 

98 

105 

120 

130 

137 

151 

160 

165 

173 

179 

192 

205 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Page 

XVII.  One  Night 219 

XVIII.  Nine  Days 225 

XIX.  An  Opinion 232 

XX.  A  Plea 242 

XXI.  Echoing  Footsteps 246 

XXII.  The  Sea  Still  Rises 260 

XXIII.  Fire  Rises 267 

XXIV.  Drawn  to  the  Loadstone  Rock 275 


BOOK  THE  THIRD.     THE  TRACK  OF  A  STORM. 

I.  In  Secret 290 

II.  The  Grindstone 304 

III.  The  Shadow 312 

IV.  Calm  in  Storm 318 

V.  The  Wood-Sawyer 325 

VI.  Triumph 332 

VII.  A  Knock  at  the  Door 340 

VIII.  A  Hand  at  Cards 347 

IX.  The  Game  Made 362 

X.  The  Substance  of  the  Shadow 377 

XI.  Dusk 395 

XII.  Darkness 400 

XIII.  Fifty-two 411 

XIV.  The  Knitting  Done •  .  425 

XV.  The  Footsteps  Die  out  for  ever 440 

NOTES 449 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Portrait  of  Dickens Frontispiece 

Dr.  Manette  in  the  Bastille Facing  page       1 

The  Mail  * "  "10 

Tellson's  Bank "  "166 

The  Sea  Rises "  "262 


INTRODUCTION. 


-•<>•- 


The  life  of  Charles  Dickens  is  as  fascinating  and  pic- 
turesque as  one  of  his  own  novels.  Born  in  humble  cir- 
cumstances and  thrown  presently  into  abject  poverty,  he 
nevertheless  became  famous  while  still  a  very  young  man ; 
before  he  had  reached  middle  age  he  was  the  best  known 
novelist  in  Europe  ;  and  when  he  died,  not  yet  an  old  man, 
he  was  mourned  all  over  the  world.  Perhaps  not  the  least 
charming  thing  about  him  was  his  unaffected  and  sincere 
delight  in  his  own  popularity.  He  loved  his  public  almost 
as  if  they  had  been  his  children,  and  in  the  very  height  of 
his  career  was  as  sensitive. to  praise  and  blame  as  any  boy. 
He  never  grew  conceited,  he  never  forgot  or  despised  the 
surroundings  and  people  he  had  known  in  his  youth ;  and 
perhaps  just  for  this  reason  he  retained  to  the  end  the 
same  keen  pleasure  in  his  success. 

He  was  born  at  Landport,  a  suburb  of  Portsea,  in  the 
south  of  England,  on  the  7th  of  February,  1812,  and  in 
that  neighborhood  he  remained  most  of  the  time  for  nine 
years.  He  was  not  a  very  strong  child  and  so  perhaps  was 
rather  inclined  to  be  solitary.  He  spent  much  of  his  time 
in  reading,  principally  such  novels  and  stories  as  those  of 
Fielding,  Smollett,  Cervantes,  and  the  Arabian  Nights. 
Very  few  boys  now  read  Tom  Jones,  Peregrine  Pickle, 
Humphrey  Clinker,  and  Gil  Bias ;  even  Don  Quixote 
is  more  neglected  than  he  used  to  be,  and  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  is  often  thought  very  old-fashioned.  These  books 
were,  however,  not  only  Dickens's  early  companions  but  they 
remained,  with  very  few  additions,  the  only  books  he  ever 


vii  s-c- 


Viil  INTRODUCTION. 

really  loved.  Though  what  he  read  later  often  amused  him 
it  had  very  little  effect  upon  his  writing,  and  in  his  novels 
we  find  few  allusions  to  any  books  save  those  that  have  just 
been  mentioned. 

When  Charles  was  ten  years  old  his  father  moved  to 
London  but  soon  lost  his  position  and  was  imprisoned  for 
debt.  Charles  was  put  to  work  in  a  blacking  warehouse, 
where  he  associated  with  the  roughest  company  and  often 
for  days  had  almost  nothing  to  eat.  This  period  lasted  for 
almost  two  years  and  it  left  a  mark  on  Dickens  that  time 
never  afterward  effaced.  It  was  the  memory  of  this  suffer- 
ing and  drudgery  that  made  him  afterwards  so  tender  of 
children,  so  eager  to  do  all  that  he  could  to  make  life  easier 
for  them,  particularly  for  tnose  who  were  poor. 

After  a  while  his  father  again  got  upon  his  feet,  and 
once  more  Dickens  was  sent  to  school,  where  he  remained 
for  some  time ;  but  the  school  was  not  a  very  good  one  nor 
did  he  care  much  for  his  comrades  there.  When,  therefore, 
at  sixteen  an  opportunity  came  to  him  to  study  law  as  ap- 
prentice to  an  attorney,  he  seized  it.  He  remained  in  the 
office  two  years  ;  then,  deciding  that  he  would  never  make 
a  lawyer,  he  learned  stenography  and  became  a  reporter  in 
the  Court  of  Chancery.  It  was  as  attorney's  clerk  and  as 
court  reporter  that  he  became  familiar  with  the  various 
types  of  " legal  gentlemen"  that  appear  so  thickly  in  his 
novels,  —  men  like  Mr.  Stryver,  for  instance,  in  the  Tale 
of  Two  Cities.  After  less  than  two  years  as  court  reporter 
the  young  man  turned  to  reporting  Parliamentary  debates 
for  a  London  newspaper  and  soon  became  the  most  expert 
of  all  in  his  profession.  Presently  he  was  transferred  to 
more  general  reporting  and  traveled  all  over  the  south  of 
England,  attending  political  conventions,  transcribing 
speeches,  and,  what  is  of  much  more  importance  to  us, 
becoming  well  acquainted  with  the  countryside,  as  already 
he  had  become  well  acquainted  with  the  city  of  London. 

s.c. 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

Already  he  had  begun  to  contribute  short  sketches  of 
London  life  to  the  paper  for  which  he  was  working,  the 
Morning  Chronicle.  In  1836,  when  he  was  twenty-four, 
he  collected  these  into  book  form  and  published  them  under 
the  title  Sketches  by  Boz,  —  Boz  (pronounced  "  bose," 
short  for  Moses)  being  the  nom  de  plume  by  which  he  was 
for  some  time  known.  The  Sketches  were  fairly  successful, 
and  soon  Dickens  was  asked  to  undertake  a  series  of  simi- 
lar articles,  to  appear  monthly  in  pamphlet  form,  which 
should  give  a  kind  of  picture  of  English  society  and  life, 
as  the  Sketches  had  pictured  London.  Dickens  accepted, 
and  the  Pickwick  Papers  were  the  result. 

Their  success  was  astonishing.  Their  author  was  imme- 
diately hailed  as  the  rightful  successor  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
in  the  line  of  great  English  novelists.  And  from  that  time, 
1836,  until  his  death  in  1870  Dickens  continued  to  be,  in 
the  general  estimation,  the  English  story-teller.  The  his- 
tory of  the  remainder  of  his  career  is  a  history  of  one 
triumph  after  another.  He  did  well  whatever  he  under- 
took. As  an  editor,  as  an  amateur  actor,  no  less  than  as  a 
brilliant  writer,  he  became  famous. 

He  became  fairly  rich  as  well  as  famous,  but  he  had 
married  young,  he  had  a  growing  family,  and  he  was  lav- 
ishly generous,  so  that  he  always  felt  the  need  of  more 
money.  Moreover,  he  liked  to  meet  his  public  face  to  face 
and  hear  their  applause  with  his  own  ears.  Eor  these  rea- 
sons, while  he  was  in  full  career  as  a  novelist,  he  began  to 
give  public  readings  from  his  own  works.  His  success  in 
this,  financially  and  popularly,  was  instantaneous  and  very 
great.  But  in  the  end  it  was  these  public  readings  which 
wore  out  his  vitality  and  exhausted  his  powers.  Traveling 
in  all  sorts  of  weather,  exciting  himself  till  he  was  unable 
to  sleep,  he  saw  his  health  gradually  disappear.  He  would 
rest  for  a  time,  but  the  old  restlessness,  the  old  desire  to 
"  see  the  house  rise  at  him/'  as  he  expressed  it,  would 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

overcome  his  resolutions  and  he  would  undertake  another 
series  of  readings.  He  would  rather  wear  out  than  rust  out, 
he  declared.  At  length,  in  the  early  part  of  1870,  he  finally 
resolved  to  leave  the  platform  of  the  public  reader  forever, 
and  to  his  audiences  he  formally  said  farewell.  But  it  was 
too  late ;  the  mischief  had  been  done ;  and  in  June  of  the 
same  year,  in  the  midst  of  work  upon  Edwin  Drood,  what 
promised  to  be  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  his  stories,  his 
strength  failed  entirely  ;  on  June  9,  at  the  age  of  fifty -eight, 
he  died.  He  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey.  "  The 
ever-friendly,  noble  Dickens,  every  inch  of  him  an  honest 
man"  —  such  was  his  epitaph  from  the  lips  of  that  least 
sentimental  of  men,  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Dickens,  as  has  been  said,  was  by  far  the  most  popular 
author  of  his  day,  —  a  day  which  extended  over  more  than 
thirty  years.  He  had  great  competitors,  too ;  those  years 
were  a  golden  time  for  the  English  novel.  Thackeray  and 
George  Eliot,  Anthony  Trollope  and  Charles  Kingsley  and 
Charles  Reade,  to  mention  only  the  foremost,  are  names 
that  every  reader  of  English  fiction  knows.  But  Dickens 
was  out  and  away  more  loved  than  any  of  them  and  as 
much  read  perhaps  as  all  five  together.  And  to-day,  though 
he  has  been  dead  more  than  a  generation,  he  is  loved  and 
read  as  widely  as  ever.  Except  Sir  Walter  Scott  no  very 
popular  writer  has  ever  held  his  place  in  the  heart  of  the 
public  as  Dickens  has. 

He  is  especially  interesting  to  Americans  who  are  be- 
lievers above  all  things  in  democracy,  because  he  was  the 
first  English  novelist  of  the  century  to  preach  the  rights 
and  tell  the  stories  of  ordinary,  everyday  citizens  —  what 
we  call  the  "  common  people."  Dickens  drew  a  large  part 
of  his  popularity  from  his  consistent  belief  and  interest  in 
the  kind  of  men  and  women  who  crowd  the  streets  of  cities 
—  clerks,  and  shopkeepers,  and  struggling  young  lawyers, 
and  school-teachers,  and  the  like.    He  saw  the  funny  side 

B.C. 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

of  their  efforts  to  "  get  on,"  but  he  saw  the  heroism  and  the 
pathos,  too.  All  his  best  characters  are  drawn  from  among 
them,  —  from  what  is  called  in  England  the  "  middle  class," 
—  and  from  the  poor.  In  all  his  long  novels  he  pictures  only 
half  a  dozen  men  and  women  of  rank,  and  of  really  rich 
people  fewer  still ;  and  in  picturing  these  few  he  is  almost 
always  harsh,  sarcastic,  unsympathetic.  He  had  been  poor. 
The  money  he  made,  the  social  success  he  gained,  never 
made  him  forget  that.  He  wrote  for  the  poor,  he  pleaded 
their  cause.  At  first  (curiously  enough  in  such  a  lover  of 
"  the  people  ")  he  did  not  like  America  and  the  Americans, 
and  American  Notes  and  Martin  Chuzzleivit  are  on  the 
whole  unfair  and  misleading  in  their  account  of  us ;  but 
later,  coming  to  a  better  appreciation  of  the  good  in  the  big 
new  country,  he  counted  himself,  before  he  died,  a  friend 
to  tens  of  thousands  here,  as  in  England. 

And  if  Dickens  deserves  his  popularity  in  America,  he 
deserves  still  more  his  popularity  with  boys  and  girls.  He 
was  the  first  English  novelist,  again,  who  showed  openly  in 
his  work  how  much  he  loved  children.  His  gallery  of  suc- 
cessful portraits  of  childhood  is  far  larger  than  that  of  any 
other  writer.  He  is  constantly  bringing  in  recollections  of 
his  own  youth.  The  boy  in  Dickens  never  died.  David 
Copperfield  is  largely  reminiscent  of  Dickens's  own  expe- 
rience;  so  is  the  boyhood  of  Philip  in  Great  Expectations  ; 
and  into  dozens  of  his  other  works  we  find  his  early  mem- 
ories woven,  till  from  a  careful  reading  we  almost  learn  the 
shading  of  his  whole  young  life,  —  how  well  his  father 
meant  and  how  badly  he  succeeded ;  how  young  Charles 
had  to  paste  labels  on  blacking  boxes  and  run  home 
at  night  through  roaring  streets  to  his  bed  in  the  prison 
where  his  father  was ;  of  his  school  days  later,  and  his 
apprenticeship,  and  his  stenography  ;  and  how  he  became  a 
reporter,  and  rattled  up  and  down  through  the  whole  south 

of  England  reporting  conventions  and  speeches,  and  sat 

s.c. 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

hours  and  hours  in  the  House  of  Commons  taking  down  the 
debates ;  and  how  he  fell  in  love,  —  in  short  all  about  him. 
But  there  are  scores  of  children  in  Dickens's  novels  who 
have  nothing  of  Dickens's  own  life  in  them  except  the 
sympathy  he  always  had  for  anybody  or  anything  young. 
Little  Dorrit  and  "  The  Marchioness  "  and  Little  Nell, 
Oliver  Twist  and  Paul  Dombey  and  Jo,  who  "  had  n't  no 
other  name,  never  had  had  "  —  they  are,  taken  all  together, 
the  most  varied,  interesting,  and  best-loved  girls  and  boys 
in  English  fiction.  If  sometimes  they  speak  and  act  as 
we  cannot  quite  believe  they  would  have  spoken  and 
acted  in  real  life,  if  sympathy  in  the  author  lapses  some- 
times into  sentimentalism,  surely  Dickens  may  be  forgiven, 
for  to  him  they  were  always  real.  The  night  after  he  had 
written  the  chapters  telling  of  Paul  Dombey's  death  he 
wandered  the  streets  of  London  restlessly  till  daybreak, 
unable  to  sleep,  as  if  one  of  his  dear  friends  had  died ;  and 
again,  he  said  apologetically  to  a  friend  who  came  in  and 
found  him  crying,  "  I  have  just  had  to  kill  Little  Nell." 

In  the  Tale  of  Tivo  Cities  we  have  one  of  Dickens's 
strongest  novels,  and  yet  one  which  is  in  some  essential 
particulars  unlike  any  of  the  others.  It  is  the  shortest,  the 
clearest,  and  most  orderly  in  its  plot,  has  the  fewest  char- 
acters, and  depends  for  its  effect  less  upon  humor  than  any 
other  (unless  Oliver  Twist  may  challenge  comparison  in  the 
last-mentioned  characteristic).  As  a  rule  one  of  Dickens's 
novels  is  a  series  of  episodes,  with  just  enough  plot  to 
carry  it  along  to  some  general  conclusion.  In  Pickwick 
Papers,  for  instance,  or  Nicholas  Nickleby,  or  even  Dombey 
and  Son  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  which  are  more  pretentious 
as  far  as  the  plot  is  concerned,  the  second  half  of  the  book 
really  has  nothing  in  particular  to  do  with  the  first  half. 
But  toward  the  latter  part  of  his  career  Dickens  paid 
greater  attention  to  this  matter  of  constructing  his  plots, 

and  the  Tale  of  Two   Cities  is    an   example    of  what  he 

s.c. 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlll 

could  do  at  his  best.  Usually  he  introduces  an  army  of  minor 
characters  whose  relation  to  the  main  story  is  pretty  vague ; 
but  here  we  have  only  one  small  family  of  characters  who 
really  are  not  necessary  to  the  development  of  the  story, 
and  the  story  itself  moves  on  relentlessly  to  a  final  inevi- 
table conclusion.  We  are  made  to  feel  that  it  could  not  have 
happened  in  any  other  way.  Very  few  chapters  are  episodic, 
that  is,  are  not  part  of  the  actual  march  of  the  story ;  and 
one  of  those  contains  an  incident  so  strange  and  melodra- 
matically thrilling  in  itself  that  no  lover  of  Dickens  could 
possibly  wish  it  away. 

As  for  the  historical  background  of  the  novel,  little  or 
nothing  needs  to  be  said  about  it.  Dickens  concerned  him- 
self less  with  the  accuracy  of  his  details  than  with  an 
attempt  to  reproduce  the  spirit  of  the  times.  Like  his 
friend,  Carlyle,  he  found  in  the  French  Ee volution  some- 
thing which  appealed  so  strongly  to  his  sense  of  the 
dramatic  that  it  almost  swept  him  off  his  feet.  If  there 
were  other  elements  in  the  Revolution  than  those  he  notices, 
that  really  makes  little  difference  to  us.  A  reading  of  the 
Tale  of  Two  Cities  is  by  no  means  a  bad  introduction 
to  the  story  of  that  wonderful,  horrible  time  when  France 
went  mad.  For  those  who  wish  to  know  more  about  the 
causes,  the  events,  and  the  results  of  her  misery  and  her 
madness,  a  brief  list  of  references  is  subjoined.  On  the 
whole,  the  Tale  of  Tivo  Cities  is  a  very  good  specimen 
of  the  historical  novel ;  and  if  it  is  not  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  of  its  author's  productions  it  is  neverthe- 
less one  of  the  most  vigorous  and  one  of  the  very  easiest 
to  read. 

The  standard  biography  of  Dickens  is  Forster's  Life 
(published  in  two  volumes).  Excellent  brief  lives  also  are 
those  by  A.  W.  Ward,  in  the  English  Men  of  Letters  Series, 
and  by  George  Gissing  (Blackie,  London).  One  by  Frank 
T.  Marzials  in  the   Great  Writers   Series  is  not  so  good. 

s.c. 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

My  Father  as  I  Recall  Him,  by  Mamie  Dickens  (Harpers) 
is  interesting.  See  also  his  Letters,  edited  by  his  daughter 
(Macmillan). 

For  a  picturesque  account  of  the  French  Revolution 
Carlyle  {French  Revolution,  2  vols.)  is  still  unsurpassed. 
Dickens  again  and  again  expresses  his  own  obligations  to 
him.  Exhaustive  accounts  are  those  b}r  Thiers,  Michelet, 
Taine,  and  Morse-Stephens.  Convenient  and  accurate  little 
books  are  the  following  : 

Mignet,  History  of  the  French  Revolution,  1789-1814  (Bonn's 
Library). 

Mrs.  B.  M.  Gardiner,  The  French  Revolution  (Epochs  of 
Modern  History  Series). 

Mallet,  French  Revolution  (Scribners,  with  bibliography). 

Morse-Stephens,  French  Revolution  (Vol.  VIII,  Oxford 
Series). 

s.c. 


DICKENS'S  LIFE  IN  OUTLINE. 

1812   Born  at  Landport  near  Portsmouth,  February  7. 
1814   Removed  to  London. 
1816   Removed  to  Chatham. 

1823  Returned  to  London.    Life  in  London  gave  him  material  for 

his  account  of  David  Copperfield's  childhood  there. 

1824  At  school  at  the  Wellington  House  Academy. 
1827   Lawyer's  clerk. 

1829   Reporter  in  Doctors'  Commons. 
1831   Parliamentary  reporter. 
1833   First  published  article. 

1835  Reporter  on  the  Morning  Chronicle. 

1836  Sketches  by  Boz.    Marriage. 

1837  Pickwick  Papers.1 

1838  Oliver  Twist. 

1839  Nicholas  Nickleby. 

1840  Old  Curiosity  Shop. 

1842  First  Visit  to  America.    American  Notes. 

1844   Martin  Chuzzlewit. 

1843-1848    Christmas  Books.     Christmas    Carol,    Cricket    on    the 

Hearth,  etc. 
1846    Dombey  and  Son. 

1849  David  Copperjield.    Began  to  edit  Household  Words. 
1852   Bleak  House. 
1857   Moved  to  Gadshill. 
1859   A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 
1861    Great  Expectations. 
1865    Our  Mutual  Friend. 
1867-1868   Second  visit  to  America. 
1870  Death,  June  9. 

1  Nearly  all  Dickens's  novels  were  first  published  in  monthly  install- 
ments, in  pamphlet  form,  a  fashion  popular  in  the  thirties  and  forties. 
The  dates  given  are  for  the  publication  in  book  form. 

xv  s,c" 


1 
- . 


A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES. 

IN  THREE   BOOKS. 


BOOK  THE  FIRST.     RECALLED    TO  LIFE. 


-*&+■ 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    PERIOD. 

It  was  the  best  of  times,  it  was  the  worst  of  times,  it  was 
the  age  of  wisdom,  it  was  the  age  of  foolishness,  it  was  the 
epoch  of  belief,  it  was  the  epoch  of  incredulity,  it  was  the 
season  of  Light,  it  was  the  season  of  Darkness,  it  was 
the  spring  of  hope,  it  was  the  winter  of  despair,  we  had 
everything  before  us,  we  had  nothing  before  us,  we  were  all 
going  direct  to  Heaven,  we  were  all  going  direct  the  other 
way  —  in  short,  the  period  was  so  far  like  the  present 
period,  that  some  of  its  noisiest  authorities  insisted  on  its 
being  received,  for  good  or  for  evil,  in  the  superlative 
degree  of  comparison  only. 

There  were  a  king  with  a  large  jaw  and  a  queen  with  a 
plain  face,  on  the  throne  of  England;  there  were  a  king 
with  a  large  jaw  and  a  queen  with  a  fair  face,  on  the  throne 
of  France.  In  both  countries  it  was  clearer  than  crystal 
to  the  lords  of  the  State  preserves  of  loaves  and  fishes,  that 
things  in  general  were  settled  for  ever. 

1  B 


A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES. 


It  was  the  year  of  Our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  seventy -£ve.  Spiritual  revelations  were  conceded  to 
England  at  that  favoured  period,  as  at  this.  Mrs.  Southcott 
had  recently  attained  her  five-and-twentieth  blessed  birth- 
day, of  whom  a  prophetic  private  in  the  Life  Guards  had 
heralded  the  sublime  appearance  by  announcing  that  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  the  swallowing  up  of  London  and 
Westminster.  Even  the  Cock-lane  ghost  had  been  laid 
only  a  round  dozen  of  years,  after  rapping  out  its  messages, 
as  the  spirits  of  this  very  year  last  past  (supernaturally 
deficient  in  originality)  rapped  out  theirs.  Mere  messages 
in  the  earthly  order  of  events  had  lately  come  to  the 
English  Crown  and  People,  from  a  congress  of  British 
subjects  in  America :  which,  strange  to  relate,  have  proved 
more  important  to  the  human  race  than  any  communica- 
tions yet  received  through  any  of  the  chickens  of  the  Cock- 
lane  brood. 

France,  less  favoured  on  the  whole  as  to  matters  spiritual 
than  her  sister  of  the  shield  and  trident,  rolled  with  exceed- 
ing smoothness  down-hill,  making  paper  money  and  spend- 
ing it.  Under  the  guidance  of  her  Christian  pastors,  she 
entertained  herself,  besides,  with  such  humane  achievements 
as  sentencing  a  youth  to  have  his  hands  cut  off,  his  tongue 
torn  out  with  pincers,  and  his  body  burned  alive,  because 
he  had  not  kneeled  down  in  the  rain  to  do  honour  to  a  dirty 
procession  of  monks  which  passed  within  his  view,  at  a 
distance  of  some  fifty  or  sixty  yards.  It  is  likely  enough 
that,  rooted  in  the  woods  of  France  and  Norway,  there  were 
growing  trees,  when  that  sufferer  was  put  to  death,  already 
marked  by  the  Woodman,  Fate,  to  come  down  and  be  sawn 
into  boards,  to  make  a  certain  movable  framework  with  a 
sack  and  a  knife  in  it,  terrible  in  history.  It  is  likely 
enough  that  in  the  rough  outhouses  of  some  tillers  of  the 
heavy  lands  adjacent  to  Paris,  there  were  sheltered  from 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  3 

the  weather  that  very  day,  rude  carts,  bespattered  with 
rustic  mire,  snuffed  about  by  pigs,  and  roosted  in  by 
poultry,  which  the  Farmer,  Death,  had  already  set  apart 
to  be  his  tumbrils  of  the  Revolution.  But,  that  Woodman 
and  that  Farmer,  though  they  work  unceasingly,  work 
silently,  and  no  one  heard  them  as  they  went  about  with 
muffled  tread:  the  rather,  forasmuch  as  to  entertain  any 
suspicion  that  they  were  awake,  was  to  be  atheistical  and 
traitorous. 

In  England,  there  was  scarcely  an  amount  of  order  and 
protection  to  justify  much  national  boasting.  Daring 
burglaries  by  armed  men,  and  highway  robberies,  took 
place  in  the  capital  itself  every  night;  families  were  pub- 
licly cautioned  not  to  go  out  of  town  without  removing 
their  furniture  to  upholsterers'  warehouses  for  security; 
the  highwayman  in  the  dark  was  a  City  tradesman  in  the 
light,  and,  being  recognised  and  challenged  by  his  fellow- 
tradesman  whom  he  stopped  in  his  character  of  "the 
Captain,"  gallantly  shot  him  through  the  head  and  rode 
away;  the  mail  was  waylaid  by  seven  robbers,  and  the 
guard  shot  three  dead,  and  then  got  shot  dead  himself  by 
the  other  four,  "  in  consequence  of  the  failure  of  his  ammu- 
nition : "  after  which  the  mail  was  robbed  in  peace ;  that 
magnificent  potentate,  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  was 
made  to  stand  and  deliver  on  Turnham  Green;  by  one  high- 
wayman, who  despoiled  the  illustrious  creature  in  sight  of 
all  his  retinue;  prisoners  in  London  gaols  fought  battles 
with  their  turnkeys,  and  the  majesty  of  the  law  fired 
blunderbusses  in  among  them,  loaded  with  rounds  of  shot 
and  ball;  thieves  snipped  off  diamond  crosses  from  the 
necks  of  noble  lords  at  Court  drawing-rooms;  musketeers 
went  into  St.  Giles's,  to  search  for  contraband  goods,  and 
the  mob  fired  on  the  musketeers,  and  the  musketeers  fired 
on  the  mob,  and  nobody  thought  any  of  these  occurrences 


4  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

much  out  of  the  common  way.  In  the  midst  of  them,  the 
hangman,  ever  busy  and  ever  worse  than  useless,  was  in 
constant  requisition;  now,  stringing  up  long  rows  of  mis- 
cellaneous criminals;  now,  hanging  a  house-breaker  on 
Saturday  who  had  been  taken  on  Tuesday;  now,  burning 
people  in  the  hand  at  Newgate  by  the  dozen,  and  now 
burning  pamphlets  at  the  door  of  Westminster  Hall ;  to-day, 
taking  the  life  of  an  atrocious  murderer,  and  to-morrow  of 
a  wretched  pilferer  who  had  robbed  a  farmer's  boy  of 
sixpence. 

All  these  things,  and  a  thousand  like  them,  came  to  pass 
in  and  close  upon  the  dear  old  year  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  seventy-five.  Environed  by  them,  while  the 
Woodman  and  the  Farmer  worked  unheeded,  those  two  of 
the  large  jaws,  and  those  other  two  of  the  plain  and  the 
fair  faces,  trod  with  stir  enough,  and  carried  their  divine 
rights  with  a  high  hand.  Thus  did  the  year  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  seventv-five  conduct  their  Greatnesses, 
and  myriads  of  small  creatures  —  the  creatures  of  this  chron- 
icle among  the  rest  —  along  the  roads  that  lay  before  them. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    MAIL. 


It  was  the  Dover  road  that  lay,  on  a  Friday  night  late 
in  November,  before  the  first  of  the  persons  with  whom 
this  history  has  business.  The  Dover  road  lay,  as  to  him, 
beyond  the  Dover  mail,  as  it  lumbered  up  Shooter's  Hill. 
He  walked  up-hill  in  the  mire  by  the  side  of  the  mail,  as 
the  rest  of  the  passengers  did;  not  because  they  had  the 
least  relish  for  walking  exercise,  under  the  circumstances, 
but  because  the  hill,  and  the  harness,  and  the  mud,  and  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  5 

mail,  were  all  so  heavy,  that  the  horses  had  three  times 
already  come  to  a  stop,  besides  once  drawing  the  coach 
across  the  road,  with  the  mutinous  intent  of  taking  it  back 
to  Blackheath.  Kerns  and  whip  and  coachman  and  guard, 
however,  in  combination,  had  read  that  article  of  war  which 
forbad  a  purpose  otherwise  strongly  in  favour  of  the  argu- 
ment, that  some  brute  animals  are  endued  with  Eeason; 
and  the  team  had  capitulated  and  returned  to  their  duty. 

With  drooping  heads  and  tremulous  tails,  they  mashed 
their  way  through  the  thick  mud,  floundering  and  stumbling 
between  whiles  as  if  they  were  falling  to  pieces  at  the 
larger  joints.  As  often  as  the  driver  rested  them  and 
brought  them  to  a  stand,  with  a  wary  "Wo-ho!  so-ho 
then ! "  the  near  leader  violently  shook  his  head  and  every- 
thing upon  it  —  like  an  unusually  emphatic  horse,  denying 
that  the  coach  could  be  got  up  the  hill.  Whenever  the 
leader  made  this  rattle,  the  passenger  started,  as  a  nervous 
passenger  might,  and  was  disturbed  in  mind. 

There  was  a  steaming  mist  in  all  the  hollows,  and  it  had 
roamed  in  its  forlornness  up  the  hill,  like  an  evil  spirit, 
seeking  rest  and  finding  none.  A  clammy  and  intensely 
cold  mist,  it  made  its  slow  way  through  the  air  in  ripples 
that  visibly  followed  and  overspread  one  another,  as  the 
waves  of  an  unwholesome  sea  might  do.  It  was  dense 
enough  to  shut  out  everything  from  the  light  of  the  coach- 
lamps  but  these  its  own  workings,  and  a  few  yards  of  road ; 
and  the  reek  of  the  labouring  horses  steamed  into  it,  as  if 
they  had  made  it  all. 

Two  other  passengers,  besides  the  one,  were  plodding  up 
the  hill  by  the  side  of  the  mail.  All  three  were  wrapped 
to  the  cheek-bones  and  over  the  ears,  and  wore  jack-boots. 
Not  one  of  the  three  could  have  said,  from  anything  he 
saw,  what  either  of  the  other  two  was  like ;  and  each  was 
hidden  under  almost  as  many  wrappers  from  the  eyes  of  the 


6  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

mind,  as  from  the  eyes  of  the  body,  of  his  two  companions. 
In  those  days,  travellers  were  very  shy  of  being  confidential 
on  a  short  notice,  for  anybody  on  the  road  might  be  a  robber 
or  in  league  with  robbers.  As  to  the  latter,  when  every 
posting-house  and  ale-house  could  produce  somebody  in 
"the  Captain's"  pay,  ranging  from  the  landlord  to  the 
lowest  stable  nondescript,  it  was  the  likeliest  thing  upon 
the  cards.  So  the  guard  of  the  Dover  mail  thought  to 
himself,  that  Friday  night  in  November  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  seventy-five,  lumbering  up  Shooter's 
Hill,  as  he  stood  on  his  own  particular  perch  behind  the 
mail,  beating  his  feet,  and  keeping  an  eye  and  a  hand  on 
the  arm-chest  before  him,  where  a  loaded  blunderbuss  lay 
at  the  top  of  six  or  eight  loaded  horse-pistols,  deposited  on 
a  substratum  of  cutlass. 

The  Dover  mail  was  in  its  usual  genial  position  that  the 
guard  suspected  the  passengers,  the  passengers  suspected 
one  another  and  the  guard,  they  all  suspected  everybody 
else,  and  the  coachman  was  sure  of  nothing  but  the  horses ; 
as  to  which  cattle  he  could  with  a  clear  conscience  have 
taken  his  oath  on  the  two  Testaments  that  they  were  not 
fit  for  the  journey. 

"Wo-ho!"  said  the  coachman.  "So,  then!  One  more 
pull  and  you're  at  the  top  and  be  damned  to  you,  for  I  have 
had  trouble  enough  to  get  you  to  it !  —  Joe !  " 

"  Halloa !  "  the  guard  replied. 

"What  o'clock  do  you  make  it,  Joe?" 

"Ten  minutes,  good,  past  eleven." 

"  My  blood !  "  ejaculated  the  vexed  coachman,  "  and  not 
atop  of  Shooter's  yet?     Tst!     Yah!     Get  on  with  you! ' 

The  emphatic  horse,  cut  short  by  the  whip  in  a  most 
decided  negative,  made  a  decided  scramble  for  it,  and  the 
three  other  horses  followed  suit.  Once  more,  the  Dover 
mail  struggled  on,  with  the  jack-boots  of  its  passengers 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  7 

squashing  along  by  its  side.  They  had  stopped  when  the 
cOach  stopped,  and  they  kept  close  company  with  it.  If 
any  one  of  the  three  had  had  the  hardihood  to  propose  to 
another  to  walk  on  a  little  ahead  into  the  mist  and  darkness, 
he  would  have  put  himself  in  a  fair  way  of  getting  shot 
instantly  as  a  highwayman. 

The  last  burst  carried  the  mail  to  the  summit  of  the  hill. 
The  horses  stopped  to  breathe  again,  and  the  guard  got 
down  to  skid  the  wheel  for  the  descent,  and  open  the  coach 
door  to  let  the  passengers  in. 

"Tst!  Joe!'  cried  the  coachman  in  a  warning  voice, 
looking  down  from  his  box. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Tom?  " 

They  both  listened. 

"  I  say  a  horse  at  a  canter  coming  up,  Joe." 

"I  say  a  horse  at  a  gallop,  Tom,"  returned  the  guard, 
leaving  his  hold  of  the  door,  and  mounting  nimbly  to  his 
place.     "  Gentlemen!     In  the  king's  name,  all  of  you!  " 

With  this  hurried  adjuration,  he  cocked  his  blunderbuss, 
and  stood  on  the  offensive. 

The  passenger  booked  by  this  history,  was  on  the  coach 
step,  getting  in ;  the  two  other  passengers  were  close  behind 
him,  and  about  to  follow.  He  remained  on  the  step,  half 
in  the  coach  and  half  out  of  it;  they  remained  in  the  road 
below  him,  They  all  looked  from  the  coachman  to  the 
guard,  and  from  the  guard  to  the  coachman,  and  listened. 
The  coachman  looked  back,  and  the  guard  looked  back,  and 
even  the  emphatic  leader  pricked  up  his  ears  and  looked 
back,  without  contradicting. 

The  stillness  consequent  on  the  cessation  of  the  rumbling 
and  labouring  of  the  coach,  added  to  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  made  it  very  quiet  indeed.  The  panting  of  the 
horses  communicated  a  tremulous  motion  to  the  coach,  as  if 
it  were  in  a  state  of  agitation.     The  hearts  of  the  passen- 


8  A   TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

gers  beat  loud  enough  perhaps  to  be  heard;  but  at  any  rate, 
the  quiet  pause  was  audibly  expressive  of  people  out  of 
breath,  and  holding  the  breath,  and  having  the  pulses 
quickened  by  expectation. 

The  sound  of  a  horse  at  a  gallop  came  fast  and  furiously 
up  the  hill. 

"  So-ho ! "  the  guard  sang  out,  as  loud  as  he  could  roar. 
"  Yo  there !     Stand !     I  shall  fire !  " 

The  pace  was  suddenly  checked,  and,  with  much  splashing 
and  floundering,  a  man's  voice  called  from  the  mist,  "Is 
that  the  Dover  mail?" 

"  Never  you  mind  what  it  is !  "  the  guard  retorted. 
"What  are  you?" 

"  7s  that  the  Dover  mail?  " 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know? " 

"I  want  a  passenger,  if  it  is." 

"What  passenger?" 

"Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry." 

Our  booked  passenger  showed  in  a  moment  that  it  was 
his  name.  The  guard,  the  coachman,  and  the  two  other 
passengers,  eyed  him  distrustfully. 

"Keep  where  you  are,"  the  guard  called  to  the  voice  in 
the  mist,  "because,  if  I  should  make  a  mistake,  it  could 
never  be  set  right  in  your  lifetime.  Gentleman  of  the 
name  of  Lorry  answer  straight." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  passenger,  then,  with 
mildly  quavering  speech.     "  Who  wants  me?     Is  it  Jerry? ': 

("I  don't  like  Jerry's  voice,  if  it  is  Jerry,"  growled  the 
guard  to  himself.     "He's  hoarser  than  suits  me,  is  Jerry.") 

"Yes,  Mr.  Lorry." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"  A  despatch  sent  after  you  from  over  yonder.    T.  and  Co. " 

"I  know  this  messenger,  guard,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  getting 
down  into  the  road  —  assisted  from  behind  more  swiftly 


A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES.  9 

than  politely  by  the  other  two  passengers,  who  immediately 
scrambled  into  the  coach,  shut  the  door,  and  pulled  np  the 
window.     "  He  may  come  close ;  there's  nothing  wrong." 

"I  hope  there  ain't,  but  I  can't  make  so  'Nation  sure  of 
that, "  said  the  guard,  in  gruff  soliloquy.     "  Hallo  you ! ' 

"Well!  And  hallo  you!  "  said  Jerry,  more  hoarsely  than 
before. 

"Come  on  at  a  footpace;  d'ye  mind  me?  And  if  you've 
got  holsters  to  that  saddle  o'  yourn,  don't  let  me  see  your 
hand  go  nigh  'em.  For  I'm  a  devil  at  a  quick  mistake, 
and  when  I  make  one  it  takes  the  form  of  Lead.  So  now 
let's  look  at  you." 

The  figures  of  a  horse  and  rider  came  slowly  through  the 
eddying  mist,  and  came  to  the  side  of  the  mail,  where  the 
passenger  stood.  The  rider  stooped,  and,  casting  up  his 
eyes  at  the  guard,  handed  the  passenger  a  small  folded 
paper.  The  rider's  horse  was  blown,  and  both  horse  and 
rider  were  covered  with  mud,  from  the  hoofs  of  the  horse 
to  the  hat  of  the  man. 

"  Guard !  "  said  the  passenger,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  business 
confidence. 

The  watchful  guard,  with  his  right  hand  at  the  stock  of 
his  raised  blunderbuss,  his  left  at  the  barrel,  and  his  eye  on 
the  horseman,  answered  curtly,  "Sir." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  apprehend.  I  belong  to  Tellson's 
Bank.  You  must  know  Tellson's  Bank  in  London.  I  am  going 
to  Paris  on  business.  A  crown  to  drink.     I  may  read  this?  " 

"If  so  be  as  you're  quick,  sir." 

He  opened  it  in  the  light  of  the  coach-lamp  on  that  side, 
and  read  —  first  to  himself  and  then  aloud:  "'Wait  at 
Dover  for  Mam'selle.'  It's  not  long,  you  see,  guard. 
Jerry,  say  that  my  answer  was,  recalled  to  life." 

Jerry  started  in  his  saddle.  "That's  a  Blazing  strange 
answer,  too,"  said  he,  at  his  hoarsest. 


10  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Take  that  message  back,  and  they  will  know  that  I 
received  this,  as  well  as  if  I  wrote.  Make  the  best  of  your 
way.     Good  night." 

With  those  words  the  passenger  opened  the  coach-door 
and  got  in;  not  at  all  assisted  by  his  fellow-passengers,  who 
had  expeditiously  secreted  their  watches  and  purses  in  their 
boots,  and  were  now  making  a  general  pretence  of  being 
asleep,  with  no  more  definite  purpose  than  to  escape  the 
hazard  of  originating  any  other  kind  of  action. 

The  coach  lumbered  on  again,  with  heavier  wreaths  of 
mist  closing  round  it  as  it  began  the  descent.  The  guard 
soon  replaced  his  blunderbuss  in  his  arm-chest,  and,  having 
looked  to  the  rest  of  its  contents,  and  having  looked  to  the 
supplementary  pistols  that  he  wore  in  his  belt,  looked  to  a 
smaller  chest  beneath  his  seat,  in  which  there  were  a  few 
smith's  tools,  a  couple  of  torches,  and  a  tinder-box.  For 
he  was  furnished  with  that  completeness,  that  if  the  coach- 
lamps  had  been  blown  and  stormed  out,  which  did  occasion- 
ally happen,  he  had  only  to  shut  himself  up  inside,  keep 
the  flint  and  steel  sparks  well  off  the  straw,  and  get  a  light 
with  tolerable  safety  and  ease  (if  he  were  lucky)  in  five 
minutes. 

"  Tom !  n  softly  over  the  coach-roof. 

"Hallo,  Joe." 

"Did  you  hear  the  message?" 

"I  did,  Joe." 

"What  did  you  make  of  it,  Tom?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  Joe." 

"  That's  a  coincidence,  too,"  the  guard  mused,  "  for  I  made 
the  same  of  it  myself." 

Jerry,  left  alone  in  the  mist  and  darkness,  dismounted 
meanwhile,  not  only  to  ease  his  spent  horse,  but  to  wipe  the 
mud  from  his  face,  and  to  shake  the  wet  out  of  his  hat-brim, 
which  might  be  capable  of  holding  about  half  a  gallon. 


>■   !.W'!M7t*Hif:'i£M 


H 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  11 

After  standing  with  the  bridle  over  his  heavily-splashed 
arm,  until  the  wheels  of  the  mail  were  no  longer  within 
hearing  and  the  night  was  quite  still  again,  he  turned  to 
walk  down  the  hill. 

"After  that  there  gallop  from  Temple-bar,  old  lady,  I 
won't  trust  your  fore-legs  till  I  get  you  on  the  level,"  said 
this  hoarse  messenger,  glancing  at  his  mare.  " '  Recalled  to 
life.'  That's  a  Blazing  strange  message.  Much  of  that 
wouldn't  do  for  you,  Jerry!  I  say,  Jerry!  You'd  be  in  a 
Blazing  bad  way,  if  recalling  to  life  was  to  come  into 
fashion,  Jerry ! " 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    NIGHT    SHADOWS. 


A  wonderful  fact  to  reflect  upon,  that  every  human 
creature  is  constituted  to  be  that  profound  secret  and 
mystery  to  every  other.  A  solemn  consideration,  when  I 
enter  a  great  city  by  night,  that  every  one  of  those  darkly 
clustered  houses  encloses  its  own  secret;  that  every  room 
in  every  one  of  them  encloses  its  own  secret;  that  every 
beating  heart  in  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  breasts  there, 
is,  in  some  of  its  imaginings,  a  secret  to  the  heart  nearest  it ! 
Something  of  the  awfulness,  even  of  Death  itself,  is  refer- 
able to  this.  No  more  can  I  turn  the  leaves  of  this  dear 
book  that  I  loved,  and  vainly  hope  in  time  to  read  it  all. 
No  more  can  I  look  into  the  depths  of  this  unfathomable 
water,  wherein,  as  momentary  lights  glanced  into  it,  I  have 
had  glimpses  of  buried  treasure  and  other  things  submerged. 
It  was  appointed  that  the  book  should  shut  with  a  spring, 
for  ever  and  for  ever,  when  I  had  read  but  a  page.  It  was 
appointed  that  the  water  should  be  locked  in  an  eternal 
frost,  when  the  light  was  playing  on  its  surface,  and  I  stood 


12  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

in  ignorance  on  the  shore.  My  friend  is  dead,  my  neighbour 
is  dead,  my  love,  the  darling  of  my  soul,  is  dead;  it  is  the 
inexorable  consolidation  and  perpetuation  of  the  secret  that 
was  always  in  that  individuality,  and  which  I  shall  carry 
in  mine  to  my  life's  end.  In  any  of  the  burial-places  in 
this  city  through  which  I  pass,  is  there  a  sleeper  more 
inscrutable  than  its  busy  inhabitants  are,  in  their  innermost 
personality,  to  me,  or  than  I  am  to  them? 

As  to  this,  his  natural  and  not  to  be  alienated  inheri- 
tance, the  messenger  on  horseback  had  exactly  the  same 
possessions  as  the  King,  the  first  Minister  of  State,  or  the 
richest  merchant  in  London.  So  with  the  three  passengers 
shut  up  in  the  narrow  compass  of  one  lumbering  old  mail- 
coach;  they  were  mysteries  to  one  another,  as  complete  as 
if  each  had  been  in  his  own  coach  and  six,  or  his  own  coach 
and  sixty,  with  the  breadth  of  a  county  between  him  and 
the  next. 

The  messenger  rode  back  at  an  easy  trot,  stopping  pretty 
often  at  ale-houses  by  the  way  to  drink,  but  evincing  a  ten- 
dency to  keep  his  own  counsel,  and  to  keep  his  hat  cocked 
over  his  eyes.  He  had  eyes  that  assorted  very  well  with 
that  decoration,  being  of  a  surface  black,  with  no  depth  in 
the  colour  or  form,  and  much  too  near  together  —  as  if  they 
were  afraid  of  being  found  out  in  something,  singly,  if  they 
kept  too  far  apart.  They  had  a  sinister  expression,  under 
an  old  cocked-hat  like  a  three-cornered  spittoon,  and  over  a 
great  muffler  for  the  chin  and  throat,  which  descended 
nearly  to  the  wearer's  knees.  When  he  stopped  for  drink, 
he  moved  this  muffler  with  his  left  hand,  only  while  he 
poured  his  liquor  in  with  his  right;  as  soon  as  that  was 
done,  he  muffled  again. 

"  No,  Jerry,  no ! "  said  the  messenger,  harping  on  one 
theme  as  he  rode.  "It  wouldn't  do  for  you,  Jerry.  Jerry, 
you  honest  tradesman,  it  wouldn't  suit  your  line  of  busi- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  13 

ness!     Eecalled !     Bust  me  if  I  don't  think  he'd  been 

a  drinking ! " 

His  message  perplexed  his  mind  to  that  degree  that  he 
was  fain,  several  times,  to  take  off  his  hat  to  scratch  his 
head.  Except  on  the  crown,  which  was  raggedly  bald,  he 
had  stiff,  black  hair,  standing  jaggedly  all  over  it,  and 
growing  down-hill  almost  to  his  broad,  blunt  nose.  It  was 
so  like  smith's  work,  so  much  more  like  the  top  of  a 
strongly  spiked  wall  than  a  head  of  hair,  that  the  best  of 
players  at  leap-frog  might  have  declined  him,  as  the  most 
dangerous  man  in  the  world  to  go  over. 

While  he  trotted  back  with  the  message  he  was  to  deliver 
to  the  night  watchman  in  his  box  at  the  door  of  Tellson's 
Bank,  by  Temple-bar,  who  was  to  deliver  it  to  greater 
authorities  within,  the  shadows  of  the  night  took  such 
shapes  to  him  as  arose  out  of  the  message,  and  took  such 
shapes  to  the  mare  as  arose  out  of  her  private  topics  of 
uneasiness.  They  seemed  to  be  numerous,  for  she  shied  at 
every  shadow  on  the  road. 

What  time,  the  mail-coach  lumbered,  jolted,  rattled,  and 
bumped  upon  its  tedious  way,  with  its  three  fellow  inscru- 
tables  inside.  To  whom,  likewise,  the  shadows  of  the  night 
revealed  themselves,  in  the  forms  their  dozing  eyes  and 
wandering  thoughts  suggested. 

Tellson's  Bank  had  a  run  upon  it  in  the  mail.  As  the 
bank  passenger — with  an  arm  drawn  through  the  leathern 
strap,  which  did  what  lay  in  it  to  keep  him  from  pounding 
against  the  next  passenger,  and  driving  him  into  his 
corner,  whenever  the  coach  got  a  special  jolt  —  nodded  in 
his  place  with  half-shut  eyes,  the  little  coach-windows,  and 
the  coach-lamp  dimly  gleaming  through  them,  and  the 
bulky  bundle  of  opposite  passenger,  became  the  bank,  and 
did  a  great  stroke  of  business.  The  rattle  of  the  harness 
was  the  chink  of  money,  and  more  drafts  were  honoured  in 


14  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

five  minutes  than  even  Tellson's,  with  all  its  foreign  and 
home  connexion,  ever  paid  in  thrice  the  time.  Then  the 
strong-rooms  underground,  at  Tellson's,  with  such  of  their 
valuable  stores  and  secrets  as  were  known  to  the  passenger 
(and  it  was  not  a  little  that  he  knew  about  them),  opened 
before  him,  and  he  went  in  among  them  with  the  great  keys 
and  the  feebly-burning  candle,  and  found  them  safe,  and 
strong,  and  sound,  and  still,  just  as  he  had  last  seen 
them. 

But,  though  the  bank  was  almost  always  with  him,  and 
though  the  coach  (in  a  confused  way,  like  the  presence  of 
pain  under  an  opiate)  was  always  with  him,  there  was  another 
current  of  impression  that  never  ceased  to  run,  all  through 
the  night.  He  was  on  his  way  to  dig  some  one  out  of  a 
grave. 

Now,  which  of  the  multitude  of  faces  that  showed  them- 
selves before  him  was  the  true  face  of  the  buried  person, 
the  shadows  of  the  night  did  not  indicate;  but  they  were 
all  the  faces  of  a  man  of  five-and-forty  by  years,  and  they 
differed  principally  in  the  passions  they  expressed,  and  in 
the  ghastliness  of  their  worn  and  wasted  state.  Pride, 
contempt,  defiance,  stubbornness,  submission,  lamentation, 
succeeded  one  another;  so  did  varieties  of  sunken  cheek, 
cadaverous  colour,  emaciated  hands  and  fingers.  But  the 
face  was  in  the  main  one  face,  and  every  head  was  prema- 
turely white.  A  hundred  times  the  dozing  passenger  in- 
quired of  this  spectre : 

"Buried  how  long?" 

The  answer  was  always  the  same:  "Almost  eighteen 
years." 

"  You  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  being  dug  out?  " 

"Long  ago." 

"You  know  that  you  are  recalled  to  life?" 

"They  tell  me  so." 


A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES.  15 

"I  hope  you  care  to  live?" 

"I  can't  say." 

"  Shall  I  show  her  to  you?  Will  you  come  and  see 
her?" 

The  answers  to  this  question  were  various  and  contradic- 
tory. Sometimes  the  broken  reply  was,  "  Wait !  It  would 
kill  me  if  I  saw  her  too  soon."  Sometimes,  it  was  given 
in  a  tender  rain  of  tears,  and  then  it  was,  "Take  me  to 
her."  Sometimes,  it  was  staring  and  bewildered,  and  then 
it  was,  "I  don't  know  her.     I  don't  understand." 

After  such  imaginary  discourse,  the  passenger  in  his 
fancy  would  dig,  and  dig,  dig  —  now,  with  a  spade;  now 
with  a  great  key,  now  with  his  hands  —  to  dig  this  wretched 
creature  out.  Got  out  at  last,  with  earth  hanging  about 
his  face  and  hair,  he  would  suddenly  fall  away  to  dust. 
The  passenger  would  then  start  to  himself,  and  lower  the 
window,  to  get  the  reality  of  mist  and  rain  on  his  cheek. 

Yet  even  when  his  eyes  were  opened  on  the  mist  and  rain, 
on  the  moving  patch  of  light  from  the  lamps,  and  the  hedge 
at  the  roadside  retreating  by  jerks,  the  night  shadows  out- 
side the  coach  would  fall  into  the  train  of  the  night  shadows 
within.  The  real  Banking-house  by  Temple-bar,  the  real 
business  of  the  past  day,  the  real  strong-rooms,  the  real 
express  sent  after  him,  and  the  real  message  returned, 
would  all  be  there.  Out  of  the  midst  of  them,  the  ghostly 
face  would  rise,  and  he  would  accost  it  again. 

"Buried  how  long?" 

"Almost  eighteen  years." 

"I  hope  you  care  to  live?" 

"I  can't  say." 

Dig  —  dig  —  dig  —  until  an  impatient  movement  from 
one  of  the  two  passengers  would  admonish  him  to  pull  up 
the  window,  draw  his  arm  securely  through  the  leathern 
strap,  and  speculate  upon  the  two  slumbering  forms,  until 


16  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

his  mind  lost  its  hold  of  them,  and  they  again  slid  away 
into  the  bank  and  the  grave. 

"Buried  how  long?" 

"Almost  eighteen  years." 

"You  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  being  dug  out?" 

"Long  ago." 

The  words  were  still  in  his  hearing  as  just  spoken  —  dis- 
tinctly in  his  hearing  as  ever  spoken  words  had  been  in 
his  life  —  when  the  weary  passenger  started  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  daylight,  and  found  that  the  shadows  of  the 
night  were  gone. 

He  lowered  the  window,  and  looked  out  at  the  rising  sun. 
There  was  a  ridge  of  ploughed  land,  with  a  plough  upon  it 
where  it  had  been  left  last  night  when  the  horses  were  un- 
yoked ;  beyond,  a  quiet  coppice-wood,  in  which  many  leaves 
of  burning  red  and  golden  yellow  still  remained  upon  the 
trees.  Though  the  earth  was  cold  and  wet,  the  sky  was 
clear,  and  the  sun  rose  bright,  placid,  and  beautiful. 

"  Eighteen  years ! "  said  the  passenger,  looking  at  the 
sun.  "  Gracious  Creator  of  Day !  To  be  buried  alive  for 
eighteen  years ! " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    PREPARATION. 


When  the  mail  got  successfully  to  Dover,  in  the  course 
of  the  forenoon,  the  head-drawer  at  the  Royal  George  Hotel 
opened  the  coach-door  as  his  custom  was.  He  did  it  with 
some  flourish  of  ceremony,  for  a  mail  journey  from  London 
in  winter  was  an  achievement  to  congratulate  an  adventur- 
ous traveller  upon. 

By  that  time,  there  was  only  one  adventurous  traveller 
left  to  be  congratulated;  for  the  two  others  had  been  set 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  17 

down  at  their  respective  roadside  destinations.  The  mil- 
dewy inside  of  the  coach,  with  its  damp  and  dirty  straw, 
its  disagreeable  smell,  and  its  obscnrity,  was  rather  like 
a  larger  dog-kennel.  Mr.  Lorry,  the  passenger,  shaking 
himself  ont  of  it  in  chains  of  straw,  a  tangle  of  shaggy 
wrapper,  flapping  hat,  and  mnddy  legs,  was  rather  like  a 
larger  sort  of  dog. 

"  There  will  be  a  packet  to  Calais  to-morrow,  drawer?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  the  weather  holds  and  the  wind  sets  tolera- 
ble fair.  The  tide  will  serve  pretty  nicely  at  about  two  in 
the  afternoon,  sir.     Bed,  sir?" 

"I  shall  not  go  to  bed  till  night;  but  I  want  a  bedroom, 
and  a  barber." 

"And  then  breakfast,  sir?  Yes,  sir.  That  way,  sir,  if 
you  please.  Show  Concord!  Gentleman's  valise  and  hot 
water  to  Concord.  Pull  off  gentleman's  boots  in  Concord. 
(You  will  find  a  fine  sea-coal  fire,  sir.)  Fetch  barber  to 
Concord.     Stir  about  there,  now,  for  Concord !  " 

The  Concord  bed-chamber  being  always  assigned  to  a 
passenger  by  the  mail,  and  passengers  by  the  mail  being 
always  heavily  wrapped  up  from  head  to  foot,  the  room 
had  the  odd  interest  for  the  establishment  of  the  Royal 
George  that  although  but  one  kind  of  man  was  seen  to  go 
into  it,  all  kinds  and  varieties  of  men  came  out  of  it.  Con- 
sequently, another  drawer,  and  two  porters,  and  several 
maids,  and  the  landlady,  were  all  loitering  by  accident  at 
various  points  of  the  road  between  the  Concord  and  the 
coffee-room,  when  a  gentleman  of  sixty,  formally  dressed 
in  a  brown  suit  of  clothes,  pretty  well  worn,  but  very  well 
kept,  with  large  square  cuffs  and  large  flaps  to  the  pockets, 
passed  along  on  his  way  to  his  breakfast. 

The  coffee-room  had  no  other  occupant,  that  forenoon, 
than  the  gentleman  in  brown.  His  breakfast-table  was 
drawn  before  the  fire,  and  as  he  sat,  with  its  light  shining 


18  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

on  him,  waiting  for  the  meal,  he  sat  so  still,  that  he  might 
have  been  sitting  for  his  portrait. 

Very  orderly  and  methodical  he  looked,  with  a  hand  on 
each  knee,  and  a  loud  watch  ticking  a  sonorous  sermon 
under  his  napped  waistcoat,  as  though  it  pitted  its  gravity 
and  longevity  against  the  levity  and  evanescence  of  the 
brisk  fire.  He  had  a  good  leg,  and  was  a  little  vain  of  it, 
for  his  brown  stockings  fitted  sleek  and  close,  and  were  of 
a  fine  texture;  his  shoes  and  buckles,  too,  though  plain, 
were  trim.  He  wore  an  odd  little  sleek  crisp  flaxen  wig, 
setting  very  close  to  his  head :  which  wig,  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed, was  made  of  hair,  but  which  looked  far  more  as 
though  it  were  spun  from  filaments  of  silk  or  glass.  His 
linen,  though  not  of  a  fineness  in  accordance  with  his  stock- 
ings, was  as  white  as  the  tops  of  the  waves  that  broke  upon 
the  neighbouring  beach,  or  the  specks  of  sail  that  glinted 
in  the  sunlight  far  at  sea.  A  face  habitually  suppressed 
and  quieted,  was  still  lighted  up  under  the  quaint  wig  by 
a  pair  of  moist  bright  eyes  that  it  must  have  cost  their 
owner,  in  years  gone  by,  some  pains  to  drill  to  the  com- 
posed and  reserved  expression  of  Tellson's  Bank.  He  had 
a  healthy  colour  in  his  cheeks,  and  his  face,  though  lined, 
bore  few  traces  of  anxiety.  But,  perhaps  the  confidential 
bachelor  clerks  in  Tellson's  Bank  were  principally  occupied 
with  the  cares  of  other  people;  and  perhaps  second-hand 
cares,  like  second-hand  clothes,  come  easily  off  and  on. 

Completing  his  resemblance  to  a  man  who  was  sitting  for 
his  portrait,  Mr.  Lorry  dropped  off  asleep.  The  arrival  of 
his  breakfast  roused  him,  and  he  said  to  the  drawer,  as  he 
moved  his  chair  to  it: 

"  I  wish  accommodation  prepared  for  a  young  lady  who 
may  come  here  at  any  time  to-day.  She  may  ask  for  Mr. 
Jarvis  Lorry,  or  she  may  only  ask  for  a  gentleman  from 
Tellson's  Bank.     Please  to  let  me  know." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  19 

"Yes,  sir.     Tellson's  Bank  in  London,  sir?" 

"Yes." 

"  Yes,  sir.  We  have  oftentimes  the  honour  to  entertain 
your  gentlemen  in  their  travelling  backwards  and  forwards 
betwixt  London  and  Paris,  sir.  A  vast  deal  of  travelling, 
sir,  in  Tellson  and  Company's  House." 

"  Yes.  We  are  quite  a  French  house,  as  well  as  an  Eng- 
lish one." 

"Yes,  sir.  Not  much  in  the  habit  of  such  travelling 
yourself,  I  think,  sir?" 

"  Not  of  late  years.  It  is  fifteen  years  since  we  —  since 
I  —  came  last  from  France." 

"Indeed,  sir?  That  was  before  my  time  here,  sir.  Be- 
fore our  people's  time  here,  sir.  The  George  was  in  other 
hands  at  that  time,  sir." 

"I  believe  so." 

"But  I  would  hold  a  pretty  wager,  sir,  that  a  House  like 
Tellson  and  Company  was  flourishing,  a  matter  of  fifty, 
not  to  speak  of  fifteen  years  ago?" 

"  You  might  treble  that,  and  say  a  hundred  and  fifty,  yet 
not  be  far  from  the  truth." 

"Indeed,  sir! " 

Bounding  his  mouth  and  both  his  eyes,  as  he  stepped 
backward  from  the  table,  the  waiter  shifted  his  napkin 
from  his  right  arm  to  his  left,  dropped  into  a  comfortable 
attitude,  and  stood  surveying  the  guest  while  he  ate  and 
drank,  as  from  an  observatory  or  watch-tower.  According 
to  the  immemorial  usage  of  waiters  in  all  ages. 

When  Mr.  Lorry  had  finished  his  breakfast,  he  went  out 
for  a  stroll  on  the  beach.  The  little  narrow,  crooked  town 
of  Dover  hid  itself  away  from  the  beach,  and  ran  its  head 
into  the  chalk  cliffs,  like  a  marine  ostrich.  The  beach  was 
a  desert  of  heaps  of  sea  and  stones  tumbling  wildly  about, 
and  the  sea  did  what  it  liked,  and  what  it  liked  was  de- 


20  A  TALE   OF  TWO  CITIES. 

struction.  It  thundered  at  the  town,  and  thundered  at  the 
cliffs,  and  brought  the  coast  down,  madly.  The  air  among 
the  houses  was  of  so  strong  a  piscatory  flavour  that  one 
might  have  supposed  sick  fish  went  up  to  be  dipped  in  it, 
as  sick  people  went  down  to  be  dipped  in  the  sea.  A  little 
fishing  was  done  in  the  port,  and  a  quantity  of  strolling 
about  by  night,  and  looking  seaward :  particularly  at  those 
times  when  the  tide  made,  and  was  near  flood.  Small 
tradesmen,  who  did  no  business  whatever,  sometimes  un- 
accountably realised  large  fortunes,  and  it  was  remarkable 
that  nobody  in  the  neighbourhood  could  endure  a  lamp- 
lighter. 

As  the  day  declined  into  the  afternoon,  and  the  air, 
which  had  been  at  intervals  clear  enough  to  allow  the 
French  coast  to  be  seen,  became  again  charged  with  mist 
and  vapour,  Mr.  Lorry's  thoughts  seemed  to  cloud  too. 
When  it  was  dark,  and  he  sat  before  the  coffee-room  fire, 
awaiting  his  dinner  as  he  had  awaited  his  breakfast,  his 
mind  was  busily  digging,  digging,  digging,  in  the  live  red 
coals. 

A  bottle  of  good  claret  after  dinner  does  a  digger  in  the 
red  coals  no  harm,  otherwise  than  as  it  has  a  tendency  to 
throw  him  out  of  work.  Mr.  Lorry  had  been  idle  a  long 
time,  and  had  just  poured  out  his  last  glassful  of  wine  with 
as  complete  an  appearance  of  satisfaction  as  is  ever  to  be 
found  in  an  elderly  gentleman  of  a  fresh  complexion  who 
has  got  to  the  end  of  a  bottle,  when  a  rattling  of  wheels 
came  up  the  narrow  street,  and  rumbled  into  the  inn-yard. 

He  set  down  his  glass  untouched.  "  This  is  Mam'selle !  " 
said  he. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  the  waiter  came  in,  to  announce 
that  Miss  Manette  had  arrived  from  London,  and  would  be 
happy  to  see  the  gentleman  from  Tellson's. 

"So  soon?" 


A    TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  21 

Miss  Manette  had  taken  some  refreshment  on  the  road, 
and  required  none  then,  and  was  extremely  anxious  to  see 
the  gentleman  from  Tellson's  immediately,  if  it  suited  his 
pleasure  and  convenience. 

The  gentleman  from  Tellson's  had  nothing  left  for  it  but 
to  empty  his  glass  with  an  air  of  stolid  desperation,  settle 
his  odd  little  flaxen  wig  at  the  ears,  and  follow  the  waiter 
to  Miss  Manette's  apartment.  It  was  a  large,  dark  room, 
furnished  in  a  funereal  manner  with  black  horsehair,  and 
loaded  with  heavy  dark  tables.  These  had  been  oiled  and 
oiled,  until  the  two  tall  candles  on  the  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  were  gloomily  reflected  on  every  leaf;  as  if 
they  were  buried,  in  deep  graves  of  black  mahogany,  and 
no  light  to  speak  of  could  be  expected  from  them  until  they 
were  dug  out. 

The  obscurity  was  so  difficult  to  penetrate  that  Mr.  Lorry, 
picking  his  way  over  the  well-worn  Turkey  carpet,  sup- 
posed Miss  Manette  to  be,  for  the  moment,  in  some  adjacent 
room,  until,  having  got  past  the  two  tall  candles,  he  saw 
standing  to  receive  him  by  the  table  between  them  and  the 
fire,  a  young  lady  of  not  more  than  seventeen,  in  a  riding- 
cloak,  and  still  holding  her  straw  travelling-hat  by  its  rib- 
bon in  her  hand.  As  his  eyes  rested  on  a  short,  slight, 
pretty  figure,  a  quantity  of  golden  hair,  a  pair  of  blue  eyes 
that  met  his  own  with  an  inquiring  look,  and  a  forehead 
with  a  singular  capacity  (remembering  how  young  and 
smooth  it  was),  of  lifting  and  knitting  itself  into  an  ex- 
pression that  was  not  quite  one  of  perplexity,  or  wonder,  or 
alarm,  or  merely  of  a  bright  fixed  attention,  though  it  in- 
cluded all  the  four  expressions  —  as  his  eyes  rested  on  these 
things,  a  sudden  vivid  likeness  passed  before  him,  of  a 
child  whom  he  had  held  in  his  arms  on  the  passage  across 
that  very  Channel,  one  cold  time,  when  the  hail  drifted 
heavily  and  the  sea  ran  high.     The  likeness  passed  away, 


22  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

say,  like  a  breath  along  the  surface  of  the  gaunt  pier-glass 
behind  her,  on  the  frame  of  which,  a  hospital  procession  of 
negro  cupids,  several  headless  and  all  cripples,  were  offer- 
ing black  baskets  of  Dead  Sea  fruit  to  black  divinities  of 
the  feminine  gender  —  and  he  made  his  formal  bow  to  Miss 
Manette. 

"Pray  take  a  seat,  sir."  In  a  very  clear  and  pleasant 
young  voice :  a  little  foreign  in  its  accent,  but  a  very  little 
indeed. 

"I  kiss  your  hand,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  with  the  man- 
ners of  an  earlier  date,  as  he  made  his  formal  bow  again, 
and  took  his  seat. 

"I  received  a  letter  from  the  Bank,  sir,  yesterday, 
informing  me  that  some  intelligence  —  or  discovery " 

"The  word  is  not  material,  miss;   either  word  will  do." 

"  —  respecting  the  small  property  of  my  poor  father  whom 
I  never  saw  —  so  long  dead " 

Mr.  Lorry  moved  in  his  chair,  and  cast  a  troubled  look 
towards  the  hospital  procession  of  negro  cupids.  As  if 
they  had  any  help  for  anybody  in  their  absurd  baskets! 

"  —  rendered  it  necessary  that  I  should  go  to  Paris,  there 
to  communicate  with  a  gentleman  of  the  Bank,  so  good  as 
to  be  despatched  to  Paris  for  the  purpose." 

"Myself." 

"As  I  was  prepared  to  hear,  sir." 

She  curtseyed  to  him  (young  ladies  made  curtseys  in  those 
days),  with  a  pretty  desire  to  convey  to  him  that  she  felt 
how  much  older  and  wiser  he  was  than  she.  He  made  her 
another  bow. 

"I  replied  to  the  Bank,  sir,  that  as  it  was  considered 
necessary,  by  those  who  know,  and  who  are  so  kind  as  to 
advise  me,  that  I  should  go  to  France,  and  that  as  I  am  an 
orphan  and  have  no  friend  who  could  go  with  me,  I  should 
esteem  it  highly  if  I  might  be  permitted  to  place  myself 


A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES.  23 

during  the  journey,  under  that  worthy  gentleman's  protec- 
tion. The  gentleman  had  left  London,  but  I  think  a  mes- 
senger was  sent  after  him  to  beg  the  favour  of  his  waiting 
for  me  here." 

"I  was  happy,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "to  be  entrusted  with  the 
charge.     I  shall  be  more  happy  to  execute  it." 

"  Sir,  I  thank  you  indeed.  I  thank  you  very  gratefully. 
It  was  told  me  by  the  Bank  that  the  gentleman  would 
explain  to  me  the  details  of  the  business,  and  that  I  must 
prepare  myself  to  find  them  of  a  surprising  nature.  I  have 
done  my  best  to  prepare  myself,  and  I  naturally  have  a 
strong  and  eager  interest  to  know  what  they  are." 

"  Naturally, "  said  Mr.  Lorry.     "  Yes  —  I " 

After  a  pause,  he  added,  again  settling  the  crisp  flaxen 
wig  at  the  ears : 

"It  is  very  difficult  to  begin." 

He  did  not  begin,  but,  in  his  indecision,  met  her  glance. 
The  young  forehead  lifted  itself  into  that  singular  expres- 
sion—  but  it  was  pretty  and  characteristic,  besides  being 
singular  —  and  she  raised  her  hand,  as  if  with  an  involun- 
tary action  she  caught  at,  or  stayed,  some  passing  shadow. 

"Are  you  quite  a  stranger  to  me,  sir?" 

"  Am  I  not?  "  Mr.  Lorry  opened  his  hands,  and  extended 
them  outward  with  an  argumentative  smile. 

Between  the  eyebrows  and  just  over  the  little  feminine 
nose,  the  line  of  which  was  as  delicate  and  fine  as  it  was 
possible  to  be.  the  expression  deepened  itself  as  she  took 
her  seat  thoughtfully  in  the  chair  by  which  she  had  hitherto 
remained  standing.  He  watched  her  as  she  mused,  and  the 
moment  she  raised  her  eyes  again,  went  on: 

"In  your  adopted  country.  I  presume,  I  cannot  do  better 
than  address  you  as  a  young  English  lady,  Miss  Manette?  ,: 

"If  you  please,  sir." 

* 

"Miss  Manette,  I  am  a  man  of  business.     I  have  a  busi- 


'  24  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

ness  charge  to  acquit  myself  of.     In  your  reception  of  it, 
don't  heed  me  any  more  than  if  I  was  a  speaking  machine 

—  truly,  I  am  not  much  else.     I  will,  with  your   leave, 
relate  to  you,  miss,  the  story  of  one  of  our  customers." 

"  Story ! " 

He  seemed  wilfully  to  mistake  the  word  she  had  repeated, 
when  he  added,  in  a  hurry,  "  Yes,  customers ;  in  the  banking 
business  we  usually  call  our  connexion  our  customers.  He 
was  a  French  gentleman;  a  scientific  gentleman;  a  man  of 
great  acquirements  —  a  Doctor." 

"Not  of  Beauvais?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  Beauvais.  Like  Monsieur  Manette,  your 
father,  the  gentleman  was  of  Beauvais.  Like  Monsieur 
Manette,  your  father,  the  gentleman  was  of  repute  in 
Paris.  I  had  the  honour  of  knowing  him  there.  Our 
relations  were  business  relations,  but  confidential.  I  was 
at  that  time  in  our  French  House,  and  had  been  —  oh! 
twenty  years." 

"At  that  time  —  I  may  ask,  at  what  time,  sir?" 

"I  speak,  miss,  of  twenty  years  ago.  He  married  —  an 
English  lady  —  and  I  was  one  of  the  trustees.  His  affairs, 
like  the  affairs  of  many  other  French  gentlemen  and  French 
families,  were  entirely  in  Tellson's  hands.  In  a  similar 
way,  I  am,  or  I  have  been,  trustee  of  one  kind  or  other  for 
scores  of  our  customers.  These  are  mere  business  relations, 
miss ;  there  is  no  friendship  in  them,  no  particular  interest, 
nothing  like  sentiment.  I  have  passed  from  one  to  another, 
in  the  course  of  my  business  life,  just  as  I  pass  from  one  of 
our  customers  to  another  in  the  course  of  my  business  day; 
in  short,  I  have  no  feelings;  I  am  a  mere  machine.  To 
go  on " 

"But  this  is  my  father's  story,  sir;  and  I  begin  to  think  " 

—  the  curiously  roughened  forehead  was  very  intent  upon 
him  —  "  that  when  I  was  left  an  orphan  through  my  mother's 


A  TALE   OF   TWO  CITIES.  25 

surviving  my  father  only  two  years,  it  was  you  who  brought 
me  to  England.     I  am  almost  sure  it  was  you." 

Mr.  Lorry  took  the  hesitating  little  hand  that  confidingly 
advanced  to  take  his,  and  he  put  it  with  some  ceremony  to 
his  lips.  He  then  conducted  the  young  lady  straightway  to 
her  chair  again,  and,  holding  the  chair-back  with  his  left 
hand,  and  using  his  right  by  turns  to  rub  his  chin,  pull  his 
wig  at  the  ears,  or  point  what  he  said,  stood  looking  down 
into  her  face  while  she  sat  looking  up  into  his. 

"  Miss  Manette,  it  was  I.  And  you  will  see  how  truly  I 
spoke  of  myself  just  now,  in  saying  I  had  no  feelings,  and 
that  all  the  relations  I  hold  with  my  fellow-creatures  are 
mere  business  relations,  when  you  reflect  that  I  have  never 
seen  you  since.  No;  you  have  been  the  ward  of  Tellson's 
House  since,  and  I  have  been  busy  with  the  other  business 
of  Tellson's  House  since.  Feelings!  I  have  no  time  for 
them,  no  chance  of  them.  I  pass  my  whole  life,  miss,  in 
turning  an  immense  pecuniary  Mangle." 

After  this  odd  description  of  his  daily  routine  of  employ- 
ment, Mr.  Lorry  flattened  his  flaxen  wig  upon  his  head  with 
both  hands  (which  was  most  unnecessary,  for  nothing  could 
be  flatter  than  its  shining  surface  was  before),  and  resumed 
his  former  attitude. 

"  So  far,  miss  (as  you  have  remarked),  this  is  the  story  of 
your  regretted  father.     Now  comes  the  difference.     If  your 

father  had  not  died  when  he  did Don't  be  frightened ! 

How  you  start !  " 

She  did,  indeed,  start.  And  she  caught  his  wrist  with 
both  her  hands. 

"Pray,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  in  a  soothing  tone,  bringing  his 
left  hand  from  the  back  of  the  chair  to  lay  it  on  the  suppli- 
catory fingers  that  clasped  him  in  so  violent  a  tremble, 
"pray  control  your  agitation  —  a  matter  of  business.  As  I 
was  saying " 


26  A  TALE   OF   TWO  CITIES. 

Her  look  so  discomposed  him  that  he  stopped,  wandered, 
and  began  anew : 

"As  I  was  saying;  if  Monsieur  Manette  had  not  died;  if 
he  had  suddenly  and  silently  disappeared;  if  he  had  been 
spirited  away;  if  it  had  not  been  difficult  to  guess  to  what 
dreadful  place,  though  no  art  could  trace  him ;  if  he  had  an 
enemy  in  some  compatriot  who  could  exercise  a  privilege 
that  I  in  my  own  time  have  known  the  boldest  people  afraid  to 
speak  of  in  a  whisper,  across  the  water  there ;  for  instance, 
the  privilege  of  filling  up  blank  forms  for  the  consignment 
of  any  one  to  the  oblivion  of  a  prison  for  any  length  of  time ; 
if  his  wife  had  implored  the  king,  the  queen,  the  court, 
the  clergy,  for  any  tidings  of  him,  and  all  quite  in  vain ;  — 
then  the  history  of  your  father  would  have  been  the  history 
of  this  unfortunate  gentleman,  the  Doctor  of  Beauvais." 

"I  entreat  you  to  tell  me  more,  sir." 

"I  will.     I  am  going  to.     You  can  bear  it? " 

"  I  can  bear  anything  but  the  uncertainty  you  leave  me  in 
at  this  moment." 

"  You  speak  collectedly,  and  you  —  are  collected.  That's 
good ! "  (Though  his  manner  was  less  satisfied  than  his 
words.)  "A  matter  of  business.  Regard  it  as  a  matter  of 
business  —  business  that  must  be  done.  Now,  if  this  Doctor's 
wife,  though  a  lady  of  great  courage  and  spirit,  had  suffered 
so  intensely  from  this  cause  before  her  little  child  was 
born " 

"The  little  child  was  a  daughter,  sir." 

"A  daughter.  A  —  a  —  matter  of  business  —  don't  be 
distressed.  Miss,  if  the  poor  lady  had  suffered  so  intensely 
before  her  little  child  was  b@rn,  that  she  came  to  the  deter- 
mination of  sparing  the  poor  child  the  inheritance  of  any 
part  of  the  agony  she  had  known  the  pains  of,  by  rearing 

her  in  the  belief  that  her  father  was  dead No,  don't 

kneel!     In  Heaven's  name  why  should  you  kneel  to  me!" 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  27 

"  For  the  truth.     0  dear,  good,  compassionate  sir,  for  the 

truth!" 

"A  —  a  matter  of  business.  You  confuse  me,  and  how 
can  I  transact  business  if  I  am  confused?  Let  us  be  clear- 
headed. If  you  could  kindly  mention  now,  for  instance, 
what  nine  times  ninepence  are,  or  how  many  shillings  in 
twenty  guineas,  it  would  be  so  encouraging.  I  should  be  so 
much  more  at  my  ease  about  your  state  of  mind." 

Without  directly  answering  to  this  appeal,  she  sat  so  still 
when  he  had  very  gently  raised  her,  and  the  hands  that  had 
not  ceased  to  clasp  his  wrists  were  so  much  more  steady 
than  they  had  been,  that  she  communicated  some  reassurance 
to  Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry. 

"That's  right,  that's  right.  Courage!  Business!  You 
have  business  before  you;  useful  business.  Miss  Manette, 
your  mother  took  this  course  with  you.  And  when  she 
died  —  I  believe  broken-hearted  —  having  never  slackened 
her  unavailing  search  for  your  father,  she  left  you,  at  two 
years  old,  to  grow  to  be  blooming,  beautiful,  and  happy, 
without  the  dark  cloud  upon  you  of  living  in  uncertainty 
whether  your  father  soon  wore  his  heart  out  in  prison,  or 
wasted  there  through  many  lingering  years." 

As  he  said  the  words,  he  looked  down,  with  an  admir- 
ing pity,  on  the  flowing  golden  hair;  as  if  he  pictured 
to  himself  that  it  might  have  been  already  tinged  with 
grey. 

"You  know  that  your  parents  had  no  great  possession, 
and  that  what  they  had  was  secured  to  your  mother  and  to 
you.  There  has  been  no  new  discovery,  of  money,  or  of 
any  other  property ;  but " 

He  felt  his  wrist  held  closer,  and  he  stopped.  The 
expression  in  the  forehead,  which  had  so  particularly 
attracted  his  notice,  and  which  was  now  immovable,  had 
deepened  into  one  of  pain  and  horror. 


28  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  But  he  has  been  —  been  found.  He  is  alive.  Greatly- 
changed,  it  is  too  probable ;  almost  a  wreck,  it  is  possible ; 
though  we  will  hope  the  best.  Still,  alive.  Your  father 
has  been  taken  to  the  house  of  an  old  servant  in  Paris,  and 
we  are  going  there:  I,  to  identify  him,  if  I  can:  you,  to 
restore  him  to  life,  love,  duty,  rest,  comfort." 

A  shiver  ran  through  her  frame,  and  from  it  through  his. 
She  said,  in  a  low,  distinct,  awe-stricken  voice,  as  if  she 
were  saying  it  in  a  dream, 

"I  am  going  to  see  his  Ghost!  It  will  be  his  Ghost  — 
not  him ! " 

Mr.  Lorry  quietly  chafed  the  hands  that  held  his  arm. 
"  There,  there,  there !  See  now,  see  now !  The  best  and  the 
worst  are  known  to  you  now.  You  are  well  on  your  way  to 
the  poor  wronged  gentleman,  and,  with  a  fair  sea  voyage, 
and  a  fair  land  journey,  you  will  be  soon  at  his  dear  side." 

She  repeated  in  the  same  tone,  sunk  to  a  whisper,  "I 
have  been  free,  I  have  been  happy,  yet  his  Ghost  has  never 
haunted  me ! " 

"Only  one  thing  more,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  laying  stress 
upon  it  as  a  wholesome  means  of  enforcing  her  attention: 
"he  has  been  found  under  another  name;  his  own,  long 
forgotten  or  long  concealed.  It  would  be  worse  than  useless 
now  to  inquire  which;  worse  than  useless  to  seek  to  know 
whether  he  has  been  for  years  overlooked,  or  always 
designedly  held  prisoner.  It  would  be  worse  than  useless 
now  to  make  any  inquiries,  because  it  would  be  dangerous. 
Better  not  to  mention  the  subject,  anywhere  or  in  any  way, 
and  to  remove  him  —  for  a  while  at  all  events  —  out  of 
France.  Even  I,  safe  as  an  Englishman,  and  even  Tell- 
son's,  important  as  they  are  to  French  credit,  avoid  all 
naming  of  the  matter.  I  carry  about  me,  not  a  scrap  of 
writing  openly  referring  to  it.  This  is  a  secret  service 
altogether.     My  credentials,  entries,  and  memoranda,  are 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  29 

all  comprehended  in  the  one  line,  '  Eecalled  to  Life ; '  which 
may  mean  anything.  But  what  is  the  matter !  She  doesn't 
notice  a  word !     Miss  Manette !  " 

Perfectly  still  and  silent,  and  not  even  fallen  back  in  her 
chair,  she  sat  under  his  hand,  utterly  insensible ;  with  her 
eyes  open  and  fixed  upon  him,  and  with  that  last  expression 
looking  as  if  it  were  carved  or  branded  into  her  forehead. 
So  close  was  her  hold  upon  his  arm,  that  he  feared  to  detach 
himself  lest  he  should  hurt  her;  therefore  he  called  out 
loudly  for  assistance  without  moving. 

A  wild-looking  woman,  whom  even  in  his  agitation,  Mr. 
Lorry  observed  to  be  all  of  a  red  colour,  and  to  have  red 
hair,  and  to  be  dressed  in  some  extraordinary  tight-fitting 
fashion,  and  to  have  on  her  head  a  most  wonderful  bonnet 
like  a  Grenadier  wooden  measure,  and  good  measure  too,  or 
a  great  Stilton  cheese,  came  running  into  the  room  in 
advance  of  the  inn  servants,  and  soon  settled  the  question 
of  his  detachment  from  the  poor  young  lady,  by  laying  a 
brawny  hand  upon  his  chest,  and  sending  him  flying  back 
against  the  nearest  wall. 

("I  really  think  this  must  be  a  man!"  was  Mr.  Lorry's 
breathless  reflection,  simultaneously  with  his  coming  against 
the  wall.) 

"  Why,  look  at  you  all ! "  bawled  this  figure,  addressing 
the  inn  servants.  "Why  don't  you  go  and  fetch  things, 
instead  of  standing  there  staring  at  me?  I  am  not  so  much 
to  look  at,  am  I?  Why  don't  you  go  and  fetch  things? 
I'll  let  you  know,  if  you  don't  bring  smelling-salts,  cold 
water,  and  vinegar,  quick,  I  will !  " 

There  was  an  immediate  dispersal  for  these  restoratives, 
and  she  softly  laid  the  patient  on  a  sofa,  and  tended  her 
with  great  skill  and  gentleness :  calling  her  "  my  precious !  " 
and  "  my  bird ! "  and  spreading  her  golden  hair  aside  over 
her  shoulders  with  great  pride  and  care. 


30  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  And  you  in  brown ! "  she  said,  indignantly  turning  to 
Mr.  Lorry;  "couldn't  you  tell  her  what  you  had  to  tell  her, 
without  frightening  her  to  death?  Look  at  her,  with  her 
pretty  pale  face  and  her  cold  hands.  Do  you  call  that  being 
a  Banker?" 

Mr.  Lorry  was  so  exceedingly  disconcerted  by  a  question 
so  hard  to  answer,  that  he  could  only  look  on,  at  a  distance, 
with  much  feebler  sympathy  and  humility,  while  the  strong 
woman,  having  banished  the  inn  servants  under  the  mys- 
terious penalty  of  "  letting  them  know  "  something  not  men- 
tioned if  they  stayed  there,  staring,  recovered  her  charge 
by  a  regular  series  of  gradations,  and  coaxed  her  to  lay  her 
drooping  head  upon  her  shoulder. 

"I  hope  she  will  do  well  now,"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"No  thanks  to  you  in  brown,  if  she  does.  My  darling 
pretty !  " 

"I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  after  another  pause  of  feeble 
sympathy  and  humility,  "  that  you  accompany  Miss  Manette 
to  France?" 

"A  likely  thing,  too!"  replied  the  strong  woman.  "If 
it  was  ever  intended  that  I  should  go  across  salt  water,  do 
you  suppose  Providence  would  have  cast  my  lot  in  an 
island?" 

This  being  another  question  hard  to  answer,  Mr.  Jarvis 
Lorry  withdrew  to  consider  it. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   WINE-SHOP. 


A  large  cask  of  wine  had  been  dropped  and  broken,  in 
the  street.  The  accident  had  happened  in  getting  it  out  of 
a  cart;  the  cask  had  tumbled  out  with  a  run,  the  hoops  had 


A   TALE   OF  TWO  CITIES.  31 

burst,  and  it  lay  on  the  stones  just  outside  the  door  of  the 
wine-shop,  shattered  like  a  walnut-shell. 

All  the  people  within  reach  had  suspended  their  business, 
or  their  idleness,  to  run  to  the  spot  and  drink  the  wine. 
The  rough,  irregular  stones  of  the  street,  pointing  every 
way,  and  designed,  one  might  have  thought,  expressly  to 
lame  all  living  creatures  that  approached  them,  had  dammed 
it  into  little  pools ;  these  were  surrounded,  each  by  its  own 
jostling  group  or  crowd,  according  to  its  size.  Some  men 
kneeled  down,  made  scoops  of  their  two  hands  joined,  and 
sipped,  or  tried  to  help  women,  who  bent  over  their  shoul- 
ders, to  sip,  before  the  wine  had  all  run  out  between  their 
fingers.  Others,  men  and  women,  dipped  in  the  puddles 
with  little  mugs  of  mutilated  earthenware,  or  even  with 
handkerchiefs  from  women's  heads,  which  were  squeezed 
dry  into  infants'  mouths;  others  made  small  mud-embank- 
ments, to  stem  the  wine  as  it  ran;  others,  directed  by 
lookers-on  up  at  high  windows,  darted  here  and  there,  to 
cut  off  little  streams  of  wine  that  started  away  in  new  direc- 
tions; others,  devoted  themselves  to  the  sodden  and  lee-dyed 
pieces  of  the  cask,  licking,  and  even  champing  the  moister 
wine-rotted  fragments  with  eager  relish.  There  was  no 
drainage  to  carry  off  the  wine,  and  not  only  did  it  all  get 
taken  up,  but  so  much  mud  got  taken  up  along  with  it,  that 
there  might  have  been  a  scavenger  in  the  street,  if  anybody 
acquainted  with  it  could  have  believed  in  such  a  miraculous 
presence. 

A  shrill  sound  of  laughter  and  of  amused  voices  —  voices 
of  men,  women,  and  children  —  resounded  in  the  street  while 
this  wine-game  lasted.  There  was  little  roughness  in  the 
sport,  and  much  playfulness.  There  was  a  special  com- 
panionship in  it,  an  observable  inclination  on  the  part  of 
every  one  to  join  some  other  one,  which  led,  especially  among 
the  luckier  or  lighter-hearted,  to  frolicsome  embraces,  drink- 


32  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

ing  of  healths,  shaking  of  hands,  and  even  joining  of  hands 
and  dancing,  a  dozen  together.  When  the  wine  was  gone, 
and  the  places  where  it  had  been  most  abundant  were  raked 
into  a  gridiron-pattern  by  fingers,  these  demonstrations 
ceased,  as  suddenly  as  they  had  broken  out.  The  man  who 
had  left  his  saw  sticking  in  the  firewood  he  was  cutting,  set 
it  in  motion  again;  the  woman  who  had  left  on  a  door-step 
the  little  pot  of  hot-ashes,  at  which  she  had  been  trying  to 
soften  the  pain  in  her  own  starved  fingers  and  toes,  or  in 
those  of  her  child,  returned  to  it;  men  with  bare  arms, 
matted  locks,  and  cadaverous  faces,  who  had  emerged  into 
the  winter  light  from  cellars,  moved  away  to  descend  again ; 
and  a  gloom  gathered  on  the  scene  that  appeared  more  natural 
to  it  than  sunshine. 

The  wine  was  red  wine,  and  had  stained  the  ground  of 
the  narrow  street  in  the  suburb  of  Saint  Antoine,  in  Paris, 
where  it  was  spilled.  It  had  stained  many  hands,  too,  and 
many  faces,  and  many  naked  feet,  and  many  wooden  shoes. 
The  hands  of  the  man  who  sawed  the  wood,  left  red  marks 
on  the  billets;  and  the  forehead  of  the  woman  who  nursed 
her  baby,  was  stained  with  the  stain  of  the  old  rag  she 
wound  about  her  head  again.  Those  who  had  been  greedy 
with  the  staves  of  the  cask,  had  acquired  a  tigerish  smear 
about  the  mouth;  and  one  tall  joker  so  besmirched,  his 
head  more  out  of  a  long  squalid  bag  of  a  nightcap  than  in 
it,  scrawled  upon  a  wall  with  his  finger  dipped  in  muddy 
wine  lees  —  Blood. 

The  time  was  to  come,  when  that  wine  too  would  be 
spilled  on  the  street-stones,  and  when  the  stain  of  it  would 
be  red  upon  many  there. 

And  now  that  the  cloud  settled  on  Saint  Antoine,  which  a 
momentary  gleam  had  driven  from  his  sacred  countenance, 
the  darkness  of  it  was  heavy  —  cold,  dirt,  sickness,  igno- 
rance, and  want,  were  the  lords  in  waiting  on  the  saintly 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  33 

presence  —  nobles  of  great  power  all  of  them;  but,  most 
especially  the  last.  Samples  of  a  people  that  had  under- 
gone a  terrible  grinding  and  re-grinding  in  the  mill,  and 
certainly  not  in  the  fabulous  mill  which  ground  old  people 
young,  shivered  at  every  corner,  passed  in  and  out  at  every 
doorway,  looked  from  every  window,  fluttered  in  every 
vestige  of  a  garment  that  the  wind  shook.  The  mill  which 
had  worked  them  down,  was  the  mill  that  grinds  young  people 
old;  the  children  had  ancient  faces  and  grave  voices;  and 
upon  them,  and  upon  the  grown  faces,  and  ploughed  into 
every  furrow  of  age  and  coining  up  afresh,  was  the  sign, 
Hunger.  It  was  prevalent  everywhere.  Hunger  was  pushed 
out  of  the  tall  houses,  in  the  wretched  clothing  that  hung 
upon  poles  and  lines ;  Hunger  was  patched  into  them  with 
straw  and  rag  and  wood  and  paper;  Hunger  was  repeated 
in  every  fragment  of  the  small  modicum  of  firewood  that 
the  man  sawed  off ;  Hunger  stared  down  from  the  smokeless 
chimneys,  and  started  up  from  the  filthy  street  that  had  no 
offal,  among  its  refuse,  of  anything  to  eat.  Hunger  was  the 
inscription  on  the  baker's  shelves,  written  in  every  small 
loaf  of  his  scanty  stock  of  bad  bread;  at  the  sausage-shop, 
in  every  dead-dog  preparation  that  was  offered  for  sale. 
Hunger  rattled  its  dry  bones  among  the  roasting  chestnuts 
in  the  turned  cylinder;  Hunger  was  shred  into  atomies  in 
every  farthing  porringer  of  husky  chips  of  potato,  fried 
with  some  reluctant  drops  of  oil. 

Its  abiding-place  was  in  all  things  fitted  to  it.  A  narrow 
winding  street,  full  of  offence  and  stench,  with  other  narrow 
winding  streets  diverging,  all  peopled  by  rags  and  night- 
caps, and  all  smelling  of  rags  and  nightcaps,  and  all  visible 
things  with  a  brooding  look  upon  them  that  looked  ill.  In 
the  hunted  air  of  the  people  there  was  yet  some  wild-beast 
thought  of  the  possibility  of  turning  at  bay.  Depressed 
and  slinking  though  they  were,  eyes  of  fire  were  not  want- 


34  A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES. 

ing  among  them;  nor  compressed  lips,  white  with  what 
they  suppressed;  nor  foreheads  knitted  into  the  likeness  of 
the  gallows-rope  they  mused  about  enduring,  or  inflicting. 
The  trade  signs  (and  they  were  almost  as  many  as  the 
shops)  were,  all,  grim  illustrations  of  Want.  The  butcher 
and  the  porkman  painted  up,  only  the  leanest  scrags  of 
meat;  the  baker,  the  coarsest  of  meagre  loaves.  The  peo- 
ple rudely  pictured  as  drinking  in  the  wine-shops,  croaked 
over  their  scanty  measures  of  thin  wine  and  beer,  and  were 
gloweringly  confidential  together.  Nothing  was  represented 
in  a  flourishing  condition,  save  tools  and  weapons;  but, 
the  cutler's  knives  and  axes  were  sharp  and  bright,  the 
smith's  hammers  were  heavy,  and  the  gunmaker's  stock  was 
murderous.  The  crippling  stones  of  the  pavement,  with 
their  many  little  reservoirs  of  mud  and  water,  had  no  foot- 
ways, but  broke  off  abruptly  at  the  doors.  The  kennel,  to 
make  amends,  ran  down  the  middle  of  the  street  —  when  it 
ran  at  all:  which  was  only  after  heavy  rains,  and  then  it 
ran,  by  many  eccentric  fits,  into  the  houses.  Across  the 
streets,  at  wide  intervals,  one  clumsy  lamp  was  slung  by  a 
rope  and  pulley;  at  night,  when  the  lamplighter  had  let 
these  down,  and  lighted,  and  hoisted  them  again,  a  feeble 
grove  of  dim  wicks  swung  in  a  sickly  manner  overhead,  as 
if  they  were  at  sea.  Indeed  they  were  at  sea,  and  the  ship 
and  crew  were  in  peril  of  tempest. 

For,  the  time  was  to  come,  when  the  gaunt  scarecrows 
of  that  region  should  have  watched  the  lamplighter,  in 
their  idleness  and  hunger,  so  long,  as  to  conceive  the  idea 
of  improving  on  his  method,  and  hauling  up  men  by  those 
ropes  and  pulleys,  to  flare  upon  the  darkness  of  their  con- 
dition. But,  the  time  was  not  come  yet;  and  every  wind 
that  blew  over  France  shook  the  rags  of  the  scarecrows  in 
vain,  for  the  birds,  fine  of  song  and  feather,  took  no 
warning. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  35 

The  wine-shop  was  a  corner  shop,  better  than  most  others 
in  its  appearance  and  degree,  and  the  master  of  the  wine- 
shop had  stood  outside  it,  in  a  yellow  waistcoat  and  green 
breeches,  looking  on  at  the  struggle  for  the  lost  wine. 
"It's  not  my  affair,"  said  he,  with  a  final  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  "The  people  from -the  market  did  it.  Let  them 
bring  another." 

There,  his  eyes  happening  to  catch  the  tall  joker  writing 
up  his  joke,  he  called  to  him  across  the  way : 

"Say,  then,  my  Gaspard,  what  do  you  do  there?" 

The  fellow  pointed  to  his  joke  with  immense  significance, 
as  is  often  the  way  with  his  tribe.  It  missed  its  mark,  and 
completely  failed,  as  is  often  the  way  with  his  tribe  too. 

"What  now?  Are  you  a  subject  for  the  mad-hospital?" 
said  the  wine-shop  keeper,  crossing  the  road,  and  obliterat- 
ing the  jest  with  a  handful  of  mud,  picked  up  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  smeared  over  it.  "Why  do  you  write  in  the 
public  streets?  Is  there  —  tell  me  thou  —  is  there  no  other 
place  to  write  such  words  in?" 

In  his  expostulation  he  dropped  his  cleaner  hand  (per- 
haps accidentally,  perhaps  not),  upon  the  joker's  heart. 
The  joker  rapped  with  his  own,  took  a  nimble  spring  up- 
ward, and  came  down  in  a  fantastic  dancing  attitude,  with 
one  of  his  stained  shoes  jerked  off  his  foot  into  his  hand, 
and  held  out.  A  joker  of  an  extremely,  not  to  say  wolfishly, 
practical  character,  he  looked,  under  those  circumstances. 

"Put  it  on,  put  it  on,"  said  the  other.  "Call  wine, 
wine;  and  finish  there."  With  that  advice,  he  wiped  his 
soiled  hand  upon  the  joker's  dress,  such  as  it  was  —  quite 
deliberately,  as  having  dirtied  the  hand  on  his  account; 
and  then  re-crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  wine-shop. 

This  wine-shop  keeper  was  a  bull-necked,  martial-looking 
man  of  thirty,  and  he  should  have  been  of  a  hot  tempera- 
ment, for,  although  it  was  a  bitter  day,  he  wore  no  coat, 


36  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

but  carried  one  slung  over  his  shoulder.  His  shirt-sleeves 
were  rolled  up,  too,  and  his  brown  arms  were  bare  to  the 
elbows.  Neither  did  he  wear  anything  more  on  his  head 
than  his  own  crisply-curling  short  dark  hair.  He  was  a 
dark  man  altogether,  with  good  eyes  and  a  good  bold  breadth 
between  them.  Good-humoured-looking  on  the  whole,  but 
implacable-looking,  too;  evidently  a  man  of  a  strong  reso- 
lution and  a  set  purpose;  a  man  not  desirable  to  be  met 
rushing  down  a  narrow  pass  with  a  gulf  on  either  side,  for 
nothing  would  turn  the  man. 

Madame  Defarge,  his  wife,  sat  in  the  shop  behind  the 
counter  as  he  came  in.  Madame  Defarge  was  a  stout 
woman  of  about  his  own  age,  with  a  watchful  eye  that  sel- 
dom seemed  to  look  at  anything,  a  large  hand  heavily 
ringed,  a  steady  face,  strong  features,  and  great  composure 
of  manner.  There  was  a  character  about  Madame  Defarge, 
from  which  one  might  have  predicated  that  she  did  not 
often  make  mistakes  against  herself  in  any  of  the  reckon- 
ings over  which  she  presided.  Madame  Defarge  being  sen- 
sitive to  cold,  was  wrapped  in  fur,  and  had  a  quantity  of 
bright  shawl  twined  about  her  head,  though  not  to  the 
concealment  of  her  large  ear-rings.  Her  knitting  was  be- 
fore her,  but  she  had  laid  it  down  to  pick  her  teeth  with  a 
toothpick.  Thus  engaged,  with  her  right  elbow  supported 
by  her  left  hand,  Madame  Defarge  said  nothing  when  her 
lord  came  in,  but  coughed  just  one  grain  of  cough.  This, 
in  combination  with  the  lifting  of  her  darkly  denned  eye- 
brows over  her  toothpick  by  the  breadth  of  a  line,  suggested 
to  her  husband  that  he  would  do  well  to  look  round  the 
shop  among  the  customers,  for  any  new  customer  who  had 
dropped  in  while  he  stepped  over  the  way. 

The  wine-shop  keeper  accordingly  rolled  his  eyes  about, 
until  they  rested  upon  an  elderly  gentleman  and  a  young 
lady,  who  were  seated  in  a  corner.     Other  company  were 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  37 

there:  two  playing  cards,  two  playing  dominoes,  three 
standing  by  the  counter  lengthening  out  a  short  supply  of 
wine.  As  he  passed  behind  the  counter,  he  took  notice 
that  the  elderly  gentleman  said  in  a  look  to  the  young 
lady,  "This  is  our  man." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  do  in  that  galley  there ! "  said 
Monsieur  Defarge  to  himself;  "I  don't  know  you." 

But  he  feigned  not  to  notice  the  two  strangers,  and  fell 
into  discourse  with  the  triumvirate  of  customers  who  were 
drinking  at  the  counter. 

"How  goes  it,  Jacques?"  said  one  of  these  three  to 
Monsieur  Defarge.     "Is  all  the  spilt  wine  swallowed?" 

"Every  drop,  Jacques,"  answered  Monsieur  Defarge. 

When  this  interchange  of  christian  name  was  effected, 
Madame  Defarge,  picking  her  teeth  with  her  toothpick, 
coughed  another  grain  of  cough,  and  raised  her  eyebrows 
by  the  breadth  of  another  line. 

"It  is  not  often,"  said  the  second  of  the  three,  addressing 
Monsieur  Defarge,  "that  many  of  these  miserable  beasts 
know  the  taste  of  wine,  or  of  anything  but  black  bread  and 
death.     Is  it  not  so,  Jacques?" 

"It  is  so,  Jacques,"  Monsieur  Defarge  returned. 

At  this  second  interchange  of  the  christian  name,  Ma- 
dame Defarge,  still  using  her  toothpick  with  profound  com- 
posure, coughed  another  grain  of  cough,  and  raised  her 
eyebrows  by  the  breadth  of  another  line. 

The  last  of  the  three  now  said  his  say,  as  he  put  down  his 
empty  drinking  vessel  and  smacked  his  lips. 

"  Ah !  So  much  the  worse !  A  bitter  taste  it  is  that  such 
poor  cattle  always  have  in  their  mouths,  and  hard  lives 
they  live,  Jacques.     Am  I  right,  Jacques?" 

"You  are  right,  Jacques,"  was  the  response  of  Monsieur 
Defarge. 

This  third  interchange  of  the  christian  name  was  com- 


38  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

pleted  at  the  moment  when  Madame  Defarge  put  her  tooth- 
pick by,  kept  her  eyebrows  up,  and  slightly  rustled  in  her  seat. 

"Hold  then!  True!"  muttered  her  husband.  "Gentle- 
men —  my  wife !  " 

The  three  customers  pulled  off  their  hats  to  Madame 
Defarge,  with  three  nourishes.  She  acknowledged  their 
homage  by  bending  her  head,  and  giving  them  a  quick  look. 
Then  she  glanced  in  a  casual  manner  round  the  wine-shop, 
took  up  her  knitting  with  great  apparent  calmness  and 
repose  of  spirit,  and  became  absorbed  in  it. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  her  husband,  who  had  kept  his  bright 
eye  observantly  upon  her,  "  good  day.  The  chamber,  fur- 
nished bachelor-fashion,  that  you  wished  to  see,  and  were 
inquiring  for  when  I  stepped  out,  is  on  the  fifth  floor. 
The  doorway  of  the  staircase  gives  on  the  little  court-yard 
close  to  the  left  here,"  pointing  with  his  hand,  "near  to 
the  window  of  my  establishment.  But,  now  that  I  remem- 
ber, one  of  you  has  already  been  there,  and  can  show  the 
way.     Gentlemen,  adieu!" 

They  paid  for  their  wine,  and  left  the  place.  The  eyes 
of  Monsieur  Defarge  were  studying  his  wife  at  her  knit- 
ting, when  the  elderly  gentleman  advanced  from  his  corner, 
and  begged  the  favour  of  a  word. 

"Willingly,  sir,"  said  Monsieur  Defarge,  and  quietly 
stepped  with  him  to  the  door. 

Their  conference  was  very  short,  but  very  decided. 
Almost  at  the  first  word,  Monsieur  Defarge  started  and  be- 
came deeply  attentive.  It  had  not  lasted  a  minute,  when 
he  nodded  and  went  out.  The  gentleman  then  beckoned  to 
the  young  lady,  and  they,  too,  went  out.  Madame  Defarge 
knitted  with  nimble  fingers  and  steady  eyebrows,  and  saw 
nothing. 

Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry  and  Miss  Manette,  emerging  from  the 
wine-shop  thus,  joined   Monsieur  Defarge  in  the  doorway 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  39 

to  which  he  had  directed  his  other  company  just  before. 
Ifc  opened  from  a  stinking  little  black  court-yard,  and  was 
the  general  public  entrance  to  a  great  pile  of  houses,  in- 
habited by  a  great  number  of  people.  In  the  gloomy  tile- 
paved  entry  to  the  gloomy  tile-paved  staircase,  Monsieur 
Defarge  bent  down  on  one  knee  to  the  child  of  his  old 
master,  and  put  her  hand  to  his  lips.  It  was  a  gentle 
action,  but  not  at  all  gently  done ;  a  very  remarkable  trans- 
formation had  come  over  him  in  a  few  seconds.  He  had 
no  good  humour  in  his  face,  nor  any  openness  of  aspect 
left,  but  had  become  a  secret,  angry,  dangerous  man. 

"  It  is  very  high ;  it  is  a  little  difficult.  Better  to  begin 
slowly."  Thus,  Monsieur  Defarge,  in  a  stern  voice,  to 
Mr.  Lorry,  as  they  began  ascending  the  stairs. 

"Is  he  alone?"  the  latter  whispered. 

"  Alone !  God  help  him  who  should  be  with  him !  "  said 
the  other,  in  the  same  low  voice. 

"Is  he  always  alone,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"  Of  his  own  desire?  " 

"  Of  his  own  necessity.  As  he  was  when  I  first  saw  him 
after  they  found  me  and  demanded  to  know  if  I  would  take 
him,  and,  at  my  peril  be  discreet  —  as  he  was  then,  so  he 
is  now." 

"He  is  greatly  changed?" 

"  Changed ! " 

The  keeper  of  the  wine-shop  stopped  to  strike  the  wall 
with  his  hand,  and  mutter  a  tremendous  curse.  No  direct 
answer  could  have  been  half  so  forcible.  Mr.  Lorry's 
spirits  grew  heavier  and  heavier,  as  he  and  his  two 
companions  ascended  higher  and  higher. 

Such  a  staircase,  with  its  accessories,  in  the  older  and 
more  crowded  parts  of  Paris,  would  be  bad  enough  now; 
but,  at  that  time,  it  was  vile  indeed  to  unaccustomed  and 


40  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

unhardened  senses.  Every  little  habitation  within  the 
great  foul  nest  of  one  high  building  —  that  is  to  say,  the 
room  or  rooms  within  every  door  that  opened  on  the  general 
staircase  —  left  its  own  heap  of  refuse  on  its  own  landing, 
besides  flinging  other  refuse  from  its  own  windows.  The 
uncontrollable  and  hopeless  mass  of  decomposition  so  en- 
gendered, would  have  polluted  the  air,  even  if  poverty  and 
deprivation  had  not  loaded  it  with  their  intangible  impuri- 
ties ;  the  two  bad  sources  combined  made  it  almost  insup- 
portable. Through  such  an  atmosphere,  by  a  steep  dark 
shaft  of  dirt  and  poison,  the  way  lay.  Yielding  to  his  own 
disturbance  of  mind,  and  to  his  young  companion's  agita- 
tion, which  became  greater  every  instant,  Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry 
twice  stopped  to  rest.  Each  of  these  stoppages  was  made 
at  a  doleful  grating,  by  which  any  languishing  good  airs 
that  were  left  uncorrupted,  seemed  to  escape,  and  all  spoilt 
and  sickly  vapours  seemed  to  crawl  in.  Through  the 
rusted  bars,  tastes,  rather  than  glimpses,  were  caught  of 
the  jumbled  neighbourhood;  and  nothing  within  range, 
nearer  or  lower  than  the  summits  of  the  two  great  towers 
of  Notre-Dame  had  any  promise  on  it  of  healthy  life  or 
wholesome  aspirations. 

At  last,  the  top  of  the  staircase  was  gained,  and  they 
stopped  for  the  third  time.  There  was  yet  an  upper  stair- 
case, of  a  steeper  inclination  and  of  contracted  dimensions, 
to  be  ascended,  before  the  garret  story  was  reached.  The 
keeper  of  the  wine-shop,  always  going  a  little  in  advance, 
and  always  going  on  the  side  which  Mr.  Lorry  took,  as 
though  he  dreaded  to  be  asked  any  question  by  the  young 
lady,  turned  himself  about  here,  and,  carefully  feeling  in 
the  pockets  of  the  coat  he  carried  over  his  shoulder,  took 
out  a  key. 

"The  door  is  locked  then,  my  friend?"  said  Mr.  Lorry, 
surprised. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  41 

u  Ay.     Yes,"  was  the  grim  reply  of  Monsieur  Defarge. 

"  You  think  it  necessary  to  keep  the  unfortunate  gentle- 
man so  retired  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  necessary  to  turn  the  key."  Monsieur  De- 
farge whispered  it  closer  in  his  ear,  and  frowned  heavily 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Why !  Because  he  has  lived  so  long,  locked  up,  that 
he  would  be  frightened  —  rave  —  tear  himself  to  pieces  — 
die  —  come  to  I  know  not  what  harm  —  if  his  door  was  left 
open." 

"  Is  it  possible  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Lorry. 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  repeated  Defarge,  bitterly.  "  Yes. 
And  a  beautiful  world  we  live  in,  when  it  is  possible,  and 
when  many  other  such  things  are  possible,  and  not  only 
possible,  but  done  —  done,  see  you !  —  under  that  sky  there, 
every  day.     Long  live  the  Devil.     Let  us  go  on." 

This  dialogue  had  been  held  in  so  very  low  a  whisper, 
that  not  a  word  of  it  had  reached  the  young  lady's  ears. 
But,  by  this  time  she  trembled  under  such  strong  emotion, 
and  her  face  expressed  such  deep  anxiety,  and,  above  all, 
such  dread  and  terror,  that  Mr.  Lorry  felt  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  speak  a  word  or  two  of  reassurance. 

"  Courage,  dear  miss  !  Courage  !  Business  !  The  worst 
will  be  over  in  a  moment ;  it  is  but  passing  the  room  door, 
and  the  worst  is  over.  Then,  all  the  good  you  bring  to 
him,  all  the  relief,  all  the  happiness  you  bring  to  him, 
begin.  Let  our  good  friend  here  assist  you  on  that  side. 
That's  well,  friend  Defarge.  Come,  now.  Business,  busi- 
ness ! " 

They  went  up  slowly  and  softl}*.  The  staircase  was 
short,  and  they  were  soon  at  the  top.  There,  as  it  had  an 
abrupt  turn  in  it,  they  came  all  at  once  in  sight  of  three 
men,  whose  heads  were  bent  down  close  together  at  the 
side  of  a  door,  and  who  were  intently  looking  into  the  room 


42  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

to  which  the  door  belonged,  through  some  chinks  or  holes 
in  the  wall.  On  hearing  footsteps  close  at  hand,  these 
three  turned,  and  rose,  and  showed  themselves  to  be  the 
three  of  one  name  who  had  been  drinking  in  the  wine- 
shop. 

"I  forgot  them  in  the  surprise  of  your  visit,"  explained 
Monsieur  Defarge.  "  Leave  us,  good  boys ;  we  have  busi- 
ness here." 

The  three  glided  by,  and  went  silently  down. 

There  appearing  to  be  no  other  door  on  that  floor,  and 
the  keeper  of  the  wine-shop  going  straight  to  this  one  when 
they  were  left  alone,  Mr.  Lorry  asked  him  in  a  whisper, 
with  a  little  anger: 

"Do  you  make  a  show  of  Monsieur  Manette?" 

"I  show  him,  in  the  way  you  have  seen,  to  a  chosen 
few." 

"Is  that  well?" 

"/think  it  is  well." 

"Who  are  the  few?     How  do  you  choose  them?" 

"  I  choose  them  as  real  men,  of  my  name  —  Jacques  is 
my  name  —  to  whom  the  sight  is  likely  to  do  good. 
Enough,  you  are  English;  that  is  another  thing.  Stay 
there,  if  you  please,  a  little  moment." 

With  an  admonitory  gesture  to  keep  them  back,  he 
stooped,  and  looked  in  through  the  crevice  in  the  wall. 
Soon  raising  his  head  again,  he  struck  twice  or  thrice  upon 
the  door  —  evidently  with  no  other  object  than  to  make  a 
noise  there.  With  the  same  intention,  he  drew  the  key 
across  it,  three  or  four  times,  before  he  put  it  clumsily  into 
the  lock,  and  turned  it  as  heavily  as  he  could. 

The  door  slowly  opened  inward  under  his  hand,  and  he 
looked  into  the  room  and  said  something.  A  faint  voice 
answered  something.  Little  more  than  a  single  syllable 
could  have  been  spoken  on  either  side. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  43 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder,  and  beckoned  them  to 
enter.  Mr.  Lorry  got  his  arm  securely  round  the  daugh- 
ter's waist,  and  held  her;  for  he  felt  that  she  was  sinking. 

"A  —  a  —  a  —  business,  business !  "  he  urged,  with  a 
moisture  that  was  not  of  business  shining  on  his  cheek. 
"  Come  in,  come  in !  " 

"I  am  afraid  of  it,"  she  answered,  shuddering. 

"Of  it?     What?" 

"I  mean  of  him.     Of  my  father." 

Kendered  in  a  manner  desperate,  by  her  state  and  by  the 
beckoning  of  their  conductor,  he  drew  over  his  neck  the 
arm  that  shook  upon  his  shoulder,  lifted  her  a  little,  and 
hurried  her  into  the  room.  He  set  her  down  just  within 
the  door,  and  held  her,  clinging  to  him. 

Defarge  drew  out  the  key,  closed  the  door,  locked  it  on 
the  inside,  took  out  the  key  again,  and  held  it  in  his  hand. 
All  this  he  did,  methodically,  and  with  as  loud  and  harsh 
an  accompaniment  of  noise  as  he  could  make.  Finally,  he 
walked  across  the  room  with  a  measured  tread  to  where  the 
window  was.     He  stopped  there,  and  faced  round. 

The  garret,  built  to  be  a  depository  for  firewood  and  the 
like,  was  dim  and  dark:  for,  the  window  of  dormer  shape, 
was  in  truth  a  door  in  the  roof,  with  a  little  crane  over  it 
for  the  hoisting  up  of  stores  from  the  street :  unglazed,  and 
closing  up  the  middle  in  two  pieces,  like  any  other  door 
of  French  construction.  To  exclude  the  cold,  one  half  of 
this  door  was  fast  closed,  and  the  other  was  opened  but  a 
very  little  way.  Such  a  scanty  portion  of  light  was  ad- 
mitted through  these  means,  that  it  was  difficult,  on  first 
coming  in,  to  see  anything;  and  long  habit  alone  could 
have  slowly  formed  in  any  one,  the  ability  to  do  any  work 
requiring  nicety  in  such  obscurity.  Yet,  work  of  that  kind 
was  being  done  in  the  garret;  for,  with  his  back  towards 
the  door,  and  his  face  towards  the  window  where  the  keeper 


44  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

of  the  wine-shop  stood  looking  at  him,  a  white-haired  man 
sat  on  a  low  bench,  stooping  forward  and  very  busy,  mak- 
ing shoes. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    SHOEMAKER. 


"  Good  day  ! "  said  Monsieur  Defarge,  looking  down  at 
the  white  head  that  bent  low  over  the  shoemaking. 

It  was  raised  for  a  moment,  and  a  very  faint  voice 
responded  to  the  salutation,  as  if  it  were  at  a  distance : 

"  Good  day !  " 

"You  are  still  hard  at  work,  I  see?" 

After  a  long  silence,  the  head  was  lifted  for  another 
moment,  and  the  voice  replied,  "Yes  —  I  am  working." 
This  time,  a  pair  of  haggard  eyes  had  looked  at  the  ques- 
tioner, before  the  face  had  dropped  again. 

The  faintness  of  the  voice  was  pitiable  and  dreadful.  It 
was  not  the  faintness  of  physical  weakness,  though  confine- 
ment and  hard  fare  no  doubt  had  their  part  in  it.  Its 
deplorable  peculiarity  was,  that  it  was  the  faintness  of 
solitude  and  disuse.  It  was  like  the  last  feeble  echo  of  a 
sound  made  long  and  long  ago.  So  entirely  had  it  lost  the 
life  and  resonance  of  the  human  voice,  that  it  affected  the 
senses  like  a  once  beautiful  colour,  faded  away  into  a  poor 
weak  stain.  So  sunken  and  suppressed  it  was,  that  it  was 
like  a  voice  underground.  So  expressive  it  was,  of  a  hope- 
less and  lost  creature,  that  a  famished  traveller,  wearied  out 
by  lonely  wandering  in  a  wilderness,  would  have  remem- 
bered home  and  friends  in  such  a  tone  before  lying  down 
to  die. 

Some  minutes  of  silent  work  had  passed,  and  the  haggard 
eyes  had  looked  up  again:  not  with  any  interest  or  curi- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  45 

osity,  but  with  a  dull  mechanical  perception,  beforehand, 
that  the  spot  where  the  only  visitor  they  were  aware  of  had 
stood,  was  not  yet  empty. 

"I  want,"  said  Defarge,  who  had  not  removed  his  gaze 
from  the  shoemaker,  "to  let  in  a  little  more  light  here. 
You  can  bear  a  little  more?" 

The  shoemaker  stopped  his  work;  looked,  with  a  vacant 
air  of  listening,  at  the  floor  on  one  side  of  him ;  then,  simi- 
larly, at  the  floor  on  the  other  side  of  him;  then,  upward 
at  the  speaker. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"You  can  bear  a  little  more  light?" 

"I  must  bear  it,  if  you  let  it  in."  (Laying  the  palest 
shadow  of  a  stress  upon  the  second  word.) 

The  opened  half-door  was  opened  a  little  further,  and 
secured  at  that  angle  for  the  time.  A  broad  ray  of  light 
fell  into  the  garret,  and  showed  the  workman,  with  an 
unfinished  shoe  upon  his  lap,  pausing  in  his  labour.  His 
few  common  tools  and  various  scraps  of  leather  were  at  his 
feet  and  on  his  bench.  He  had  a  white  beard,  raggedly  cut, 
but  not  very  long,  a  hollow  face,  and  exceedingly  bright 
eyes.  The  hollowness  and  thinness  of  his  face  would  have 
caused  them  to  look  large,  under  his  yet  dark  eyebrows  and 
his  confused  white  hair,  though  they  had  been  really  other- 
wise; but  they  were  naturally  large,  and  looked  unnaturally 
so.  His  yellow  rags  of  shirt  lay  open  at  the  throat,  and 
showed  his  body  to  be  withered  and  worn.  He,  and  his  old 
canvas  frock,  and  his  loose  stockings,  and  all  his  poor  tatters 
of  clothes,  had,  in  a  long  seclusion  from  direct  light  and 
air,  faded  down  to  such  a  dull  uniformity  of  parchment- 
yellow,  that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say  which  was 
which. 

He  had  put  up  a  hand  between  his  eyes  and  the  light,  and 
the  very  bones  of  it  seemed  transparent.     So  he  sat,  with  a 


46  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

steadfastly  vacant  gaze,  pausing  in  his  work.  He  never 
looked  at  the  figure  before  him,  without  first  looking  down 
on  this  side  of  himself,  then  on  that,  as  if  he  had  lost  the 
habit  of  associating  place  with  sound;  he  never  spoke, 
without  first  wandering  in  this  manner,  and  forgetting  to 
speak. 

"Are  you  going  to  finish  that  pair  of  shoes  to-day?" 
asked  Defarge,  motioning  to  Mr.  Lorry  to  come  forward. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  finish  that  pair  of  shoes  to-day? " 

"I  can't  say  that  I  mean  to.  I  suppose  so.  I  don't 
know." 

But  the  question  reminded  him  of  his  work,  and  he  bent 
over  it  again. 

Mr.  Lorry  came  silently  forward,  leaving  the  daughter  by 
the  door.  When  he  had  stood,  for  a  minute  or  two,  by  the 
side  of  Defarge,  the  shoemaker  looked  up.  He  showed  no 
surprise  at  seeing  another  figure,  but  the  unsteady  fingers 
of  one  of  his  hands  strayed  to  his  lips  as  he  looked  at  it 
(his  lips  and  his  nails  were  of  the  same  pale  lead-colour), 
and  then  the  hand  dropped  to  his  work,  and  he  once  more 
bent  over  the  shoe.  The  look  and  the  action  had  occupied 
but  an  instant. 

"You  have  a  visitor,  you  see,"  said  Monsieur  Defarge. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Here  is  a  visitor." 

The  shoemaker  looked  up  as  before,  but  without  removing 
a  hand  from  his  work. 

"Come!  "  said  Defarge.  "Here  is  monsieur,  who  knows 
a  well-made  shoe  when  he  sees  one.  Show  him  that  shoe 
you  are  working  at.     Take  it,  monsieur." 

Mr.  Lorry  took  it  in  his  hand. 

"Tell  monsieur  what  kind  of  shoe  it  is,  and  the  maker's 
name." 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  47 

There  was  a  longer  pause  than  usual,  before  the  shoe- 
maker replied : 

"I  forget  what  it  was  you  asked  me.  What  did  you 
say?" 

"  I  said,  couldn't  you  describe  the  kind  of  shoe,  for  mon- 
sieur's information?" 

"  It  is  a  lady's  shoe.  It  is  a  young  lady's  walking-shoe. 
It  is  in  the  present  mode.  I  never  saw  the  mode.  I  have 
had  a  pattern  in  my  hand."  He  glanced  at  the  shoe,  with 
some  little  passing  touch  of  pride. 

"And  the  maker's  name?"  said  Defarge. 

Now  that  he  had  no  work  to  hold,  he  laid  the  knuckles 
of  the  right  hand  in  the  hollow  of  the  left,  and  then  the 
knuckles  of  the  left  hand  in  the  hollow  of  the  right,  and 
then  passed  a  hand  across  his  bearded  chin,  and  so  on  in 
regular  changes,  without  a  moment's  intermission.  The 
task  of  recalling  him  from  the  vacancy  into  which  he  always 
sank  when  he  had  spoken,  was  like  recalling  some  very 
weak  person  from  a  swoon,  or  endeavouring,  in  the  hope  of 
some  disclosure,  to  stay  the  spirit  of  a  fast-dying  man. 

"Did  you  ask  me  for  my  name?" 

"Assuredly  I  did." 

"One  Hundred  and  Five,  North  Tower." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"One  Hundred  and  Five,  North  Tower." 

With  a  weary  sound  that  was  not  a  sigh,  nor  a  groan,  he 
bent  to  work  again,  until  the  silence  was  again  broken. 

"You  are  not  a  shoemaker  by  trade?"  said  Mr.  Lorry, 
looking  steadfastly  at  him. 

His  haggard  eyes  turned  to  Defarge  as  if  he  would  have 
transferred  the  question  to  him ;  but  as  no  help  came  from 
that  quarter,  they  turned  back  on  the  questioner  when  they 
had  sought  the  ground. 

"I  am  not  a  shoemaker  by  trade?    No,  I  was  not  a  shoe- 


48  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

maker  by  trade.     I  —  I  learnt  it  here.     I  taught  myself. 
I  asked  leave  to " 

He  lapsed  away,  even  for  minutes,  ringing  those  measured 
changes  on  his  hands  the  whole  time.  His  eyes  came  slowly 
back,  at  last,  to  the  face  from  which  they  had  wandered; 
when  they  rested  on  it,  he  started,  and  resumed,  in  the 
manner  of  a  sleeper  that  moment  awake,  reverting  to  a  sub- 
ject of  last  night. 

"  I  asked  leave  to  teach  myself,  and  I  got  it  with  much 
difficulty  after  a  long  while,  and  I  have  made  shoes  ever 
since." 

As  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  shoe  that  had  been  taken 
from  him,  Mr.  Lorry  said,  still  looking  steadfastly  in  his 
face : 

"Monsieur  Manette,  do  you  remember  nothing  of  me?" 

The  shoe  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  he  sat  looking 
fixedly  at  the  questioner. 

"  Monsieur  Manette ; "  Mr.  Lorry  laid  his  hand  upon 
Defarge's  arm;  "do  you  remember  nothing  of  this  man? 
Look  at  him.  Look  at  me.  Is  there  no  old  banker,  no  old 
business,  no  old  servant,  no  old  time,  rising  in  your  mind, 
Monsieur  Manette?" 

As  the  captive  of  many  years  sat  looking  fixedly,  by  turns 
at  Mr.  Lorry  and  at  Defarge,  some  long  obliterated  marks 
of  an  actively  intent  intelligence  in  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
head, gradually  forced  themselves  through  the  black  mist 
that  had  fallen  on  him.  They  were  overclouded  again,  they 
were  fainter,  they  were  gone;  but,  they  had  been  there. 
And  so  exactly  was  the  expression  repeated  on  the  fair 
young  face  of  her  who  had  crept  along  the  wall  to  a  point 
where  she  could  see  him,  and  where  she  now  stood  looking 
at  him,  with  hands  which  at  first  had  been  only  raised  in 
frightened  compassion,  if  not  even  to  keep  him  off  and  shut 
out  the  sight  of  him,  but  which  were  now  extending  towards 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  49 

him,  trembling  with,  eagerness  to  lay  the  spectral  face  upon 
her  warm  young  breast,  and  love  it  back  to  life  and  hope  — 
so  exactly  was  the  expression  repeated  (though  in  stronger 
characters)  on  her  fair  young  face,  that  it  looked  as  though 
it  had  passed,  like  a  moving  light,  from  him  to  her. 

Darkness  had  fallen  on  him  in  its  place.  He  looked  at 
the  two,  less  and  less  attentively,  and  his  eyes  in  gloomy 
abstraction  sought  the  ground  and  looked  about  him  in  the 
old  way.  Finally,  with  a  deep  long  sigh,  he  took  the  shoe 
up,  and  resumed  his  work. 

"Have  you  recognised  him,  monsieur?"  asked  Defarge, 
in  a  whisper. 

uYes;  for  a  moment.  At  first  I  thought  it  quite  hope- 
less, but  I  have  unquestionably  seen,  for  a  single  moment, 
the  face  that  I  once  knew  well.  Hush !  Let  us  draw  further 
back.     Hush!" 

She  had  moved  from  the  wall  of  the  garret,  very  near  to 
the  bench  on  which  he  sat.  There  was  something  awful  in 
his  unconsciousness  of  the  figure  that  could  have  put  out  its 
hand  and  touched  him  as  he  stooped  over  his  labour. 

Not  a  word  was  spokeD,  not  a  sound  was  made.  She 
stood,  like  a  spirit,  beside  him,  and  he  bent  over  his 
work. 

It  happened,  at  length,  that  he  had  occasion  to  change  the 
instrument  in  his  hand,  for  his  shoemaker's  knife.  It  lay 
on  that  side  of  him  which  was  not  the  side  on  which  she 
stood.  He  had  taken  it  up,  and  was  stooping  to  work 
again,  when  his  eyes  caught  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  He 
raised  them,  and  saw  her  face.  The  two  spectators  started 
forward,  but  she  stayed  them  with  a  motion  of  her  hand. 
She  had  no  fear  of  his  striking  at  her  with  the  knife,  though 
they  had. 

He  stared  at  her  with  a  fearful  look,  and  after  a  while 
his  lips  began  to  form  some  words,  though  no  sound  pro- 

E 


50  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

ceeded  from  them.     By  degrees,  in  the  pauses  of  his  quick 
and  laboured  breathing,  he  was  heard  to  say : 

"What  is  this!" 

With  the  tears  streaming  down  her  face,  she  put  her  two 
hands  to  her  lips,  and  kissed  them  to  him;  then  clasped 
them  on  her  breast,  as  if  she  laid  his  ruined  head  there. 

"You  are  not  the  gaoler's  daughter?" 

She  sighed  "No." 

"Who  are  you?" 

Not  yet  trusting  the  tones  of  her  voice,  she  sat  down  on 
the  bench  beside  him.  He  recoiled,  but  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm.  A  strange  thrill  struck  him  when  she  did 
so,  and  visibly  passed  over  his  frame  j  he  laid  the  knife 
down  softly,  as  he  sat  staring  at  her. 

Her  golden  hair,  which  she  wore  in  long  curls,  had  been 
hurriedly  pushed  aside,  and  fell  down  over  her  neck. 
Advancing  his  hand  by  little  and  little,  he  took  it  up,  and 
looked  at  it.  In  the  midst  of  the  action  he  went  astray, 
and,  with  another  deep  sigh,  fell  to  work  at  his  shoemaking. 

But,  not  for  long.  Releasing  his  arm,  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  After  looking  doubtfully  at  it,  two  or 
three  times,  as  if  to  be  sure  that  it  was  really  there,  he  laid 
down  his  work,  put  his  hand  to  his  neck,  and  took  off  a 
blackened  string  with  a  scrap  of  folded  rag  attached  to  it. 
He  opened  this,  carefully,  on  his  knee,  and  it  contained  a 
very  little  quantity  of  hair :  not  more  than  one  or  two  long 
golden  hairs,  which  he  had,  in  some  old  day,  wound  off 
upon  his  finger. 

He  took  her  hair  into  his  hand  again,  and  looked  closely 
at  it.  "It  is  the  same.  How  can  it  be!  When  was  it! 
How  was  it !  " 

As  the  concentrating  expression  returned  to  his  forehead, 
he  seemed  to  become  conscious  that  it  was  in  hers  too.  He 
turned  her  full  to  the  light,  and  looked  at  her. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  51 

"She  had  laid  her  head  upon  my  shoulder,  that  night 
when  I  was  summoned  out  —  she  had  a  fear  of  my  going, 
though  I  had  none  —  and  when  I  was  brought  to  the  North 
Tower  they  found  these  upon  my  sleeve.  'You  will  leave 
me  them?  They  can  never  help  me  to  escape  in  the  body, 
though  they  may  in  the  spirit/  Those  were  the  words  I 
said.     I  remember  them  very  well." 

He  formed  this  speech  with  his  lips  many  times  before  he 
could  utter  it.  But  when  he  did  find  spoken  words  for  it, 
they  came  to  him  coherently,  though  slowly. 

"  How  was  this  ?  —  Was  it  you  ?  " 

Once  more,  the  two  spectators  started,  as  he  turned  upon 
her  with  a  frightful  suddenness.  But,  she  sat  perfectly 
still  in  his  grasp,  and  only  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  entreat 
you,  good  gentlemen,  do  not  come  near  us,  do  not  speak,  do 
not  move ! " 

"Hark!  "  he  exclaimed.     "Whose  voice  was  that?" 

His  hands  released  her  as  he  uttered  this  cry,  and  went 
up  to  his  white  hair,  which  they  tore  in  a  frenzy.  It  died 
out,  as  everything  but  his  shoemaking  did  die  out  of  him, 
and  he  refolded  his  little  packet  and  tried  to  secure  it  in 
his  breast;  but,  he  still  looked  at  her,  and  gloomily  shook 
his  head. 

"No,  no,  no;  you  are  too  young,  too  blooming.  It  can't 
be.  See  what  the  prisoner  is.  These  are  not  the  hands  she 
knew,  this  is  not  the  face  she  knew,  this  is  not  a  voice  she 
ever  heard.  No,  no.  She  was  —  and  He  was  —  before  the 
slow  years  of  the  North  Tower  —  ages  ago.  What  is  your 
name,  my  gentle  angel?" 

Hailing  his  softened  tone  and  manner,  his  daughter  fell 
upon  her  knees  before  him,  with  her  appealing  hands  upon 
his  breast. 

"  0,  sir,  at  another  time  you  shall  know  my  name,  and 
who  my  mother  was,  and  who  my  father,  and  how  I  never 


52  A  TALE   OF  TWO  CITIES. 

knew  their  hard,  hard  history.  But  I  cannot  tell  you  at 
this  time,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  here.  All  that  I  may  tell 
you,  here  and  now,  is,  that  I  pray  to  you  to  touch  me  and 
to  bless  me.     Kiss  me,  kiss  me!     0  my  dear,  my  dear! " 

His  cold  white  head  mingled  with  her  radiant  hair,  which 
warmed  and  lighted  it  as  though  it  were  the  light  of  Free- 
dom shining  on  him. 

"  If  you  hear  in  my  voice  —  I  don't  know  that  it  is  so, 
but  I  hope  it  is  —  if  you  hear  in  my  voice  any  resemblance 
to  a  voice  that  once  was  sweet  music  in  your  ears,  weep  for 
it,  weep  for  it!  If  you  touch,  in  touching  my  hair,  any- 
thing that  recalls  a  beloved  head  that  lay  in  your  breast 
when  you  were  young  and  free,  weep  for  it,  weep  for  it! 
If,  when  I  hint  to  you  of  a  Home  there  is  before  us,  where 
I  will  be  true  to  you  with  all  my  duty  and  with  all  my 
faithful  service,  I  bring  back  the  remembrance  of  a  Home 
long  desolate,  while  your  poor  heart  pined  away,  weep  for 
it,  weep  for  it !  " 

She  held  him  closer  round  the  neck,  and  rocked  him  on 
her  breast  like  a  child. 

"If,  when  I  tell  you,  dearest  dear,  that  your  agony  is 
over,  and  that  I  have  come  here  to  take  you  from  it,  and 
that  we  go  to  England  to  be  at  peace  and  at  rest,  I  cause 
you  to  think  of  your  useful  life  laid  waste,  and  of  our  native 
France  so  wicked  to  you,  weep  for  it,  weep  for  it!  And 
if,  when  I  shall  tell  you  of  my  name,  and  of  my  father  who 
is  living,  and  of  my  mother  who  is  dead,  you  learn  that  I 
have  to  kneel  to  my  honoured  father,  and  implore  his  par- 
don for  having  never  for  his  sake  striven  all  day  and  lain 
awake  and  wept  all  night,  because  the  love  of  my  poor 
mother  hid  his  torture  from  me,  weep  for  it,  weep  for  it! 
Weep  for  her,  then,  and  for  me!  Good  gentlemen,  thank 
God!  I  feel  his  sacred  tears  upon  my  face,  and  his  sobs  strike 
against  my  heart.    0,  see !    Thank  God  for  us,  thank  God !  " 


A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES.  53 

He  had  sunk  in  her  arms,  with  his  face  dropped  on  her 
breast :  a  sight  so  touching,  yet  so  terrible  in  the  tremen- 
dous wrong  and  suffering  which  had  gone  before  it,  that  the 
two  beholders  covered  their  faces. 

When  the  quiet  of  the  garret  had  been  long  undisturbed, 
and  his  heaving  breast  and  shaken  form  had  long  yielded  to 
the  calm  that  must  follow  all  storms  —  emblem  to  human- 
ity, of  the  rest  and  silence  into  which  the  storm  called  Life 
must  hush  at  last  —  they  came  forward  to  raise  the  father 
and  daughter  from  the  ground.  He  had  gradually  drooped 
to  the  floor,  and  lay  there  in  a  lethargy,  worn  out.  She 
had  nestled  down  with  him,  that  his  head  might  lie  upon 
her  arm;  and  her  hair  drooping  over  him  curtained  him 
from  the  light. 

"If,  without  disturbing  him,"  she  said,  raising  her  hand 
to  Mr.  Lorry  as  he  stooped  over  them,  after  repeated  blow- 
ings of  his  nose,  "all  could  be  arranged  for  our  leaving 
Paris  at  once,  so  that,  from  the  very  door,  he  could  be  taken 
away " 

"But,  consider.  Is  he  fit  for  the  journey?"  asked  Mr. 
Lorry. 

"  More  fit  for  that,  I  think,  than  to  remain  in  this  city, 
so  dreadful  to  him." 

"  It  is  true, "  said  Defarge,  who  was  kneeling  to  look  on 
and  hear.  "  More  than  that ;  Monsieur  Manette  is,  for  all 
reasons,  best  out  of  France.  Say,  shall  I  hire  a  carriage 
and  post-horses?" 

"That's  business,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  resuming  on  the 
shortest  notice  his  methodical  manners;  "and  if  business  is 
to  be  done,  I  had  better  do  it." 

"Then  be  so  kind,"  urged  Miss  Manette,  "as  to  leave  us 
here.  You  see  how  composed  he  has  become,  and  you  can- 
not be  afraid  to  leave  him  with  me  now.  Why  should  you 
be?  If  you  will  lock  the  door  to  secure  us  from  interruption, 


54  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  you  will  find  him,  when  you  come  back, 
as  quiet  as  you  leave  him.  In  any  case,  I  will  take  care  of 
him  until  you  return,  and  then  we  will  remove  him  straight." 

Both  Mr.  Lorry  and  Defarge  were  rather  disinclined  to 
this  course,  and  in  favour  of  one  of  them  remaining.  But, 
as  there  were  not  only  carriage  and  horses  to  be  seen  to,  but 
travelling  papers;  and  as  time  pressed,  for  the  day  was 
drawing  to  an  end,  it  came  at  last  to  their  hastily  dividing 
the  business  that  was  necessary  to  be  done,  and  hurrying 
away  to  do  it. 

Then,  as  the  darkness  closed  in,  the  daughter  laid  her 
head  down  on  the  hard  ground  close  at  the  father's  side, 
and  watched  him.  The  darkness  deepened  and  deepened, 
and  they  both  lay  quiet,  until  a  light  gleamed  through  the 
chinks  in  the  wall. 

Mr.  Lorry  and  Monsieur  Defarge  had  made  all  ready  for 
the  journey,  and  had  brought  with  them,  besides  travelling 
cloaks  and  wrappers,  bread  and  meat,  wine,  and  hot  coffee. 
Monsieur  Defarge  put  this  provender,  and  the  lamp  he 
carried,  on  the  shoemaker's  bench  (there  was  nothing  else 
in  the  garret  but  a  pallet  bed),  and  he  and  Mr.  Lorry  roused 
the  captive,  and  assisted  him  to  his  feet. 

No  human  intelligence  could  have  read  the  mysteries  of 
his  mind,  in  the  scared  blank  wonder  of  his  face.  Whether 
he  knew  what  had  happened,  whether  he  recollected  what 
they  had  said  to  him,  whether  he  knew  that  he  was  free, 
were  questions  which  no  sagacity  could  have  solved.  They 
tried  speaking  to  him;  but,  he  was  so  confused,  and  so  very 
slow  to  answer,  that  they  took  fright  at  his  bewilderment, 
and  agreed  for  the  time  to  tamper  with  him  no  more.  He 
had  a  wild,  lost  manner  of  occasionally  clasping  his  head  in 
his  hands,  that  had  not  been  seen  in  him  before;  yet,  he 
had  some  pleasure  in  the  mere  sound  of  his  daughter's  voice, 
and  invariably  turned  to  it  when  she  spoke. 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  55 

In  the  submissive  way  of  one  long  accustomed  to  obey 
under  coercion,  he  ate  and  drank  what  they  gave  him  to  eat 
and  drink,  and  put  on  the  cloak  and  other  wrappings  that 
they  gave  him  to  wear.  He  readily  responded  to  his  daugh- 
ter's drawing  her  arm  through  his,  and  took  —  and  kept  — 
her  hand  in  both  of  his  own. 

They  began  to  descend;  Monsieur  Defarge  going  first  with 
the  lamp,  Mr.  Lorry  closing  the  little  procession.  They  had 
not  traversed  many  steps  of  the  long  main  staircase  when  he 
stopped,  and  stared  at  the  roof  and  round  at  the  walls. 

"You  remember  the  place,  my  father?  You  remember 
coming  up  here?  " 

"What  did  you  say?7' 

But,  before  she  could  repeat  the  question,  he  murmured 
an  answer  as  if  she  had  repeated  it. 

"Remember?  No,  I  don't  remember.  It  was  so  very 
long  ago." 

That  he  had  no  recollection  whatever  of  his  having  been 
brought  from  his  prison  to  that  house,  was  apparent  to 
them.  They  heard  him  mutter,  "  One  Hundred  and  Five, 
North  Tower;  "  and  when  he  looked  about  him,  it  evidently 
was  for  the  strong  fortress-walls  which  had  long  encom- 
passed him.  On  their  reaching  the  court-yard,  he  instinc- 
tively altered  his  tread,  as  being  in  expectation  of  a 
drawbridge;  and  when  there  was  no  drawbridge,  and  he 
saw  the  carriage  waiting  in  the  open  street,  he  dropped  his 
daughter's  hand  and  clasped  his  head  again. 

No  crowd  was  about  the  door ;  no  people  were  discernible 
at  any  of  the  many  windows;  not  even  a  chance  passer-by 
was  in  the  street.  An  unnatural  silence  and  desertion 
reigned  there.  Only  one  soul  was  to  be  seen,  and  that  was 
Madame  Defarge  —  who  leaned  against  the  door-post,  knit- 
ting, and  saw  nothing. 

The  prisoner  had  got  into  the  coach,  and  his  daughter 


56  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

had  followed  him,  when  Mr.  Lorry's  feet  were  arrested  on 
the  step  by  his  asking,  miserably,  for  his  shoemaking  tools 
and  the  unfinished  shoes.  Madame  Defarge  immediately 
called  to  her  husband  that  she  would  get  them,  and  went, 
knitting,  out  of  the  lamplight,  through  the  court-yard. 
She  quickly  brought  them  down  and  handed  them  in ;  — 
and  immediately  afterwards  leaned  against  the  door-post, 
knitting,  and  saw  nothing. 

Defarge  got  upon  the  box,  and  gave  the  word  "  To  the 
Barrier ! "  The  postilion  cracked  his  whip,  and  they  clat- 
tered away  under  the  feeble  over-swinging  lamps. 

Under  the  over-swinging  lamps  —  swinging  ever  brighter 
in  the  better  streets,  and  ever  dimmer  in  the  worse  —  and 
by  lighted  shops,  gay  crowds,  illuminated  coffee-houses, 
and  theatre  doors,  to  one  of  the  city  gates.  Soldiers  with 
lanterns,  at  the  guard-house  there.  "Your  papers,  travel- 
lers!" "See  here  then,  Monsieur  the  Officer,"  said  De- 
farge, getting  down,  and  taking  him  gravely  apart,  "  these 
are  the  papers  of  monsieur  inside,  with  the  white  head. 

They  were  consigned  to  me,  with  him,  at  the ,:     He 

dropped  his  voice,  there  was  a  flutter  among  the  military 
lanterns,  and  one  of  them  being  handed  into  the  coach  by 
an  arm  in  uniform,  the  eyes  connected  with  the  arm  looked, 
not  an  every  day  or  an  every  night  look,  at  monsieur  with 
the  white  head.  "  It  is  well.  Forward !  "  from  the  uniform. 
"Adieu!"  from  Defarge.  And  so,  under  a  short  grove  of 
feebler  and  feebler  over-swinging  lamps,  out  under  the 
great  grove  of  stars. 

Beneath  that  arch  of  unmoved  and  eternal  lights :  some, 
so  remote  from  this  little  earth  that  the  learned  tell  us  it 
is  doubtful  whether  their  rays  have  even  yet  discovered  it, 
as  a  point  in  space  where  anything  is  suffered  or  done :  the 
shadows  of  the  night  were  broad  and  black.  All  through 
the  cold  and  restless  interval,  until  dawn,  they  once  more 


A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES.  57 

whispered  in  the  ears  of  Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry  —  sitting  opposite 
the  buried  man  who  had  been  dug  out,  and  wondering  what 
subtle  powers  were  for  ever  lost  to  him,  and  what  were 
capable  of  restoration  —  the  old  inquiry : 

"I  hope  you  care  to  be  recalled  to  life?" 

And  the  old  answer : 

"I  can't  say." 


BOOK   THE  SECOND.     THE   GOLDEN   THREAD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FIVE    YEARS    LATER. 

Tellson's  Bank  by  Temple  Bar  was  an  old-fashioned 
place,  even  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
eighty.  It  was  very  small,  very  dark,  very  ugly,  very 
incommodious.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  place,  moreover, 
in  the  moral  attribute  that  the  partners  in  the  House  were 
proud  of  its  smallness,  proud  of  its  darkness,  proud  of  its 
ugliness,  proud  of  its  incommodiousness.  They  were  even 
boastful  of  its  eminence  in  those  particulars,  and  were  fired 
by  an  express  conviction  that,  if  it  were  less  objectionable, 
it  would  be  less  respectable.  This  was  no  passive  belief, 
but  an  active  weapon  which  they  flashed  at  more  conven- 
ient places  of  business.  Tellson's  (they  said)  wanted  no 
elbow-room,  Tellson's  wanted  no  light,  Tellson's  wanted 
no  embellishment.  Noakes  and  Co.'s  might,  or  Snooks 
Brothers'  might;  but  Tellson's,  thank  Heaven! 

Any  one  of  these  partners  would  have  disinherited  his 
son  on  the  question  of  rebuilding  Tellson's.  In  this  re- 
spect the  House  was  much  on  a  par  with  the  Country ;  which 
did  very  often  disinherit  its  sons  for  suggesting  improve- 
ments in  laws  and  customs  that  had  long  been  highly  objec- 
tionable, but  were  only  the  more  respectable. 

Thus  it  had  come  to  pass,  that  Tellson's  was  the  trium- 

58 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  59 

phant  perfection  of  inconvenience.  After  bursting  open  a 
door  of  idiotic  obstinacy  with  a  weak  rattle  in  its  throat, 
you  fell  into  Tellson's  down  two  steps,  and  came  to  your 
senses  in  a  miserable  little  shop,  with  two  little  counters, 
where  the  oldest  of  men  made  your  cheque  shake  as  if  the 
wind  rustled  it,  while  they  examined  the  signature  by  the 
dingiest  of  windows,  which  were  always  under  a  shower- 
bath  of  mud  from  Fleet-street,  and  which  were  made  the 
dingier  by  their  own  iron  bars  proper,  and  the  heavy 
shadow  of  Temple  Bar.  If  your  business  necessitated  your 
seeing  "the  House,"  you  were  put  into  a  species  of  Con- 
demned Hold  at  the  back,  where  you  meditated  on  a  mis- 
spent life,  until  the  House  came  with  its  hands  in  its  pock- 
ets, and  you  could  hardly  blink  at  it  in  the  dismal  twilight. 
Your  money  came  out  of,  or  went  into,  wormy  old  wooden 
drawers,  particles  of  which  flew  up  your  nose  and  down 
your  throat  when  they  were  opened  and  shut.  Your  bank- 
notes had  a  musty  odour,  as  if  they  were  fast  decomposing 
into  rags  again.  Your  plate  was  stowed  away  among  the 
neighbouring  cesspools,  and  evil  communications  corrupted 
its  good  polish  in  a  day  or  two.  Your  deeds  got  into  ex- 
temporised strong-rooms  made  of  kitchens  and  sculleries, 
and  fretted  all  the  fat  out  of  their  parchments  into  the 
banking-house  air.  Your  lighter  boxes  of  family  papers 
went  up-stairs  into  a  Barmecide  room,  that  always  had  a 
great  dining-table  in  it  and  never  had  a  dinner,  and  where, 
even  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty, 
the  first  letters  written  to  you  by  your  old  love,  or  by  your 
little  children,  were  but  newly  released  from  the  horror  of 
being  ogled  through  the  windows,  by  the  heads  exposed  on 
Temple  Bar  with  an  insensate  brutality  and  ferocity  worthy 
of  Abyssinia  or  Ashantee. 

But  indeed,  at  that  time,  putting  to  death  was  a  recipe 
much  in  vogue  with  all  trades  and  professions,  and  not  least 


60  A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES. 

of  all  with  Tellson's.  Death  is  Nature's  remedy  for  all 
things,  and  why  not  Legislation's  ?  Accordingly,  the 
forger  was  put  to  Death ;  the  utterer  of  a  bad  note  was  put 
to  Death  ;  the  unlawful  opener  of  a  letter  was  put  to  Death ; 
the  purloiner  of  forty  shillings  and  sixpence  was  put  to 
Death ;  the  holder  of  a  horse  at  Tellson's  door,  who  made 
off  with  it,  was  put  to  Death ;  the  coiner  of  a  bad  shilling 
was  put  to  Death ;  the  sounders  of  three-fourths  of  the 
notes  in  the  whole  gamut  of  Crime  were  put  to  Death. 
Not  that  it  did  the  least  good  in  the  way  of  prevention  — 
it  might  almost  have  been  worth  remarking  that  the  fact 
was  exactly  the  reverse  —  but,  it  cleared  off  (as  to  this 
world)  the  trouble  of  each  particular  case,  and  left  nothing 
else  connected  with  it  to  be  looked  after.  Thus,  Tellson's, 
in  its  day,  like  greater  places  of  business,  its  contempora- 
ries, had  taken  so  many  lives,  that,  if  the  heads  laid  low 
before  it  had  been  ranged  on  Temple  Bar  instead  of  being 
privately  disposed  of,  they  would  probably  have  excluded 
what  little  light  the  ground  floor  had,  in  a  rather  significant 
manner. 

Cramped  in  all  kinds  of  dim  cupboards  and  hutches  at 
Tellson's,  the  oldest  of  men  carried  on  the  business  gravely. 
When  they  took  a  young  man  into  Tellson's  London  house, 
they  hid  him  somewhere  till  he  was  old.  They  kept  him 
in  a  dark  place,  like  a  cheese,  until  he  had  the  full  Tellson 
flavour  and  blue-mould  upon  him.  Then  only  was  he  per- 
mitted to  be  seen,  spectacularly  poring  over  large  books, 
and  casting  his  breeches  and  gaiters  into  the  general  weight 
of  the  establishment. 

Outside  Tellson's  —  never  by  any  means  in  it,  unless 
called  in  —  was  an  odd-job-man,  an  occasional  porter  and 
messenger,  who  served  as  the  live  sign  of  the  house.  He 
was  never  absent  during  business  hours,  unless  upon  an 
errand,  and  then  he  was  represented  by  his  son :  a  grisly 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  6i 

urchin  of  twelve,  who  was  his  express  image.  People 
understood  that  Tellson's,  in  a  stately  way,  tolerated  the 
odd-job-man.  The  House  had  always  tolerated  some  per- 
son in  that  capacity,  and  time  and  tide  had  drifted  this 
person  to  the  post.  His  surname  was  Cruncher,  and  on 
the  youthful  occasion  of  his  renouncing  by  proxy  the  works 
of  darkness,  in  the  easterly  parish  church  of  Houndsditch, 
he  had  received  the  added  appellation  of  Jerry. 

The  scene,  was  Mr.  Cruncher's  private  lodging  in  Hang- 
ing-sword-alley, Whitefriars ;  the  time,  half-past  seven  of 
the  clock  on  a  windy  March  morning,  Anno  Domini  seven- 
teen hundred  and  eighty.  (Mr.  Cruncher  himself  always 
spoke  of  the  year  of  our  Lord  as  Anna  Dominoes :  appar- 
ently under  the  impression  that  the  Christian  era  dated 
from  the  invention  of  a  popular  game,  by  a  lady  who  had 
bestowed  her  name  upon  it.) 

Mr.  Cruncher's  apartments  were  not  in  a  savoury  neigh- 
bourhood, and  were  but  two  in  number,  even  if  a  closet 
with  a  single  pane  of  glass  in  it  might  be  counted  as  one. 
But,  they  were  very  decently  kept.  Early  as  it  was,  on  the 
windy  March  morning,  the  room  in  which  he  lay  a-bed 
was  already  scrubbed  throughout ;  and  between  the  cups 
and  saucers  arranged  for  breakfast,  and  the  lumbering 
deal  table,  a  very  clean  white  cloth  was  spread. 

Mr.  Cruncher  reposed  under  a  patchwork  counterpane, 
like  a  Harlequin  at  home.  At  first,  he  slept  heavily,  but, 
by  degrees,  began  to  roll  and  surge  in  bed,  until  he  rose 
above  the  surface,  with  his  spiky  hair  looking  as  if  it  must 
tear  the  sheets  to  ribbons.  At  which  juncture,  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  voice  of  dire  exasperation : 

"  Bust  me,  if  she  ain't  at  it  agin  ! " 

A  woman  of  orderly  and  industrious  appearance  rose 
from  her  knees  in  a  corner,  with  sufficient  haste  and  trepi- 
dation to  show  that  she  was  the  person  referred  to. 


62  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  What ! "  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  looking  out  of  bed  for  a 
boot.     "You're  at  it  agin,  are  you?" 

After  hailing  the  morn  with  this  second  salutation,  he 
threw  a  boot  at  the  woman  as  a  third.  It  was  a  very 
muddy  boot,  and  may  introduce  the  odd  circumstance 
connected  with  Mr.  Cruncher's  domestic  economy,  that, 
whereas  he  often  came  home  after  banking  hours  with  clean 
boots,  he  often  got  up  next  morning  to  find  the  same  boots 
covered  with  clay. 

"What,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  varying  his  apostrophe 
after  missing  his  mark  —  "  what  are  you  up  to,  Aggeraway- 
ter?" 

•'I  was  only  saying  my  prayers." 

"Saying  your  prayers.  You're  a  nice  woman!  What 
do  you  mean  by  flopping  yourself  down  and  praying 
agin  me?" 

"I  was  not  praying  against  you;  I  was  praying  for  you." 

"You  weren't.  And  if  you  were,  I  won't  be  took  the 
liberty  with.  Here!  your  mother's  a  nice  woman,  Young 
Jerry,  going  a  praying  agin  your  father's  prosperity. 
You've  got  a  dutiful  mother,  you  have,  my  son.  You've 
got  a  religious  mother,  you  have,  my  boy :  going  and  flop- 
ping herself  down,  and  praying  that  the  bread-and-butter 
may  be  snatched  out  of  the  mouth  of  her  only  child !  " 

Master  Cruncher  (who  was  in  his  shirt)  took  this  very 
ill,  and,  turning  to  his  mother,  strongly  deprecated  any 
praying  away  of  his  personal  board. 

"And  what  do  you  suppose,  you  conceited  female,"  said 
Mr.  Cruncher,  with  unconscious  inconsistency,  "that  the 
worth  of  your  prayers  may  be?  Name  the  price  that  you 
put  your  prayers  at !  " 

"  They  only  come  from  the  heart,  Jerry.  They  are  worth 
no  more  than  that." 

"Worth  no  more  than   that,"  repeated  Mr.   Cruncher. 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  63 

"They  ain't  worth  much,  then.  Whether  or  no,  I  won't 
be  prayed  agin,  I  tell  you.  I  can't  afford  it.  I'm  not 
a  going  to  be  made  unlucky  by  your  sneaking.  If  you  must 
go  flopping  yourself  down,  flop  in  favour  of  your  husband 
and  child,  and  not  in  opposition  to  'em.  If  I  had  had  any 
but  a  unnat'ral  wife,  and  this  poor  boy  had  had  any  but  a 
unnat'ral  mother,  I  might  have  made  some  money  last 
week,  instead  of  being  counterprayed  and  countermined 
and  religiously  circumwented  into  the  worst  of  luck. 
Bu-u-ust  me ! "  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  who  all  this  time  had 
been  putting  on  his  clothes,  "  if  I  ain't,  what  with  piety  and 
one  blowed  thing  and  another,  been  choused  this  last  week 
into  as  bad  luck  as  ever  a  poor  devil  of  a  honest  tradesman 
met  with!  Young  Jerry,  dress  yourself,  my  boy,  and 
while  I  clean  my  boots  keep  a  eye  upon  your  mother  now 
and  then,  and  if  you  see  any  signs  of  more  flopping,  give 
me  a  call.  For,  I  tell  you,"  here  he  addressed  his  wife 
once  more,  "  I  won't  be  gone  agin,  in  this  manner.  I  am 
as  rickety  as  a  hackney-coach,  I'm  as  sleepy  as  laudanum, 
my  lines  is  strained  to  that  degree  that  I  shouldn't  know, 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  pain  in  'em,  which  was  me  and  which 
somebody  else,  yet  I'm  none  the  better  for  it  in  pocket; 
and  it's  my  suspicion  that  you've  been  at  it  from  morning 
to  night  to  prevent  me  from  being  the  better  for  it  in 
pocket,  and  I  won't  put  up  with  it,  Aggerawayter,  and 
what  do  you  say  now !  " 

Growling,  in  addition,  such  phrases  as  "Ah!  yes! 
You're  religious,  too.  You  wouldn't  put  yourself  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  interests  of  your  husband  and  child,  would 
you?  Not  you!"  and  throwing  off  other  sarcastic  sparks 
from  the  whirling  grindstone  of  his  indignation,  Mr. 
Cruncher  betook  himself  to  his  boot-cleaning  and  his  gen- 
eral preparations  for  business.  In  the  mean  time,  his  son, 
whose  head  was  garnished  with  tenderer  spikes,  and  whose 


64  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

young  eyes  stood  close  by  one  another,  as  his  father's  did, 
kept  the  required  watch  upon  his  mother.  He  greatly 
disturbed  that  poor  woman  at  intervals,  by  darting  out  of 
his  sleeping  closet,  where  he  made  his  toilet,  with  a  sup- 
pressed cry  of  "  You  are  going  to  flop,  motner.  —  Halloa, 
father!"  and,  after  raising  this  fictitious  alarm,  darting  in 
again  with  an  undutiful  grin. 

Mr.  Cruncher's  temper  was  not  at  all  improved  when  he 
came  to  his  breakfast.  He  resented  Mrs.  Cruncher's  say- 
ing Grace  with  particular  animosity. 

"Now,  Aggeraway ter !  What  are  you  up  to?  At  it 
agin?" 

His  wife  explained  that  she  had  merely  "asked  a  bless- 
mg." 

"  Don't  do  it ! "  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  looking  about,  as  if 
he  rather  expected  to  see  the  loaf  disappear  under  the  effi- 
cacy of  his  wife's  petitions.  "I  ain't  a  going  to  be  blest 
out  of  house  and  home.  I  won't  have  my  wittles  blest  off 
my  table.     Keep  still !  " 

Exceedingly  red-eyed  and  grim,  as  if  he  had  been  up  all 
night  at  a  party  which  had  taken  anything  but  a  convivial 
turn,  Jerry  Cruncher  worried  his  breakfast  rather  than  ate 
it,  growling  over  it  like  any  four-footed  inmate  of  a  menage- 
rie. Towards  nine  o'clock  he  smoothed  his  ruffled  aspect, 
and,  presenting  as  respectable  and  business-like  an  exterior 
as  he  could  overlay  his  natural  self  with,  issued  forth  to 
the  occupation  of  the  day. 

It  could  scarcely  be  called  a  trade,  in  spite  of  his  favour- 
ite description  of  himself  as  "a  honest  tradesman."  His 
stock  consisted  of  a  wooden  stool,  made  out  of  a  broken- 
backed  chair  cut  down,  which  stool  Young  Jerry,  walking 
at  his  father's  side,  carried  every  morning  to  beneath  the 
banking-house  window  that  was  nearest  Temple  Bar :  where, 
with  the  addition  of  the  first  handful  of  straw  that  could 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  65 

be  gleaned  from  any  passing  vehicle  to  keep  the  cold  and 
wet  from  the  odd-job-man's  feet,  it  formed  the  encampment 
for  the  day.  On  this  post  of  his,  Mr.  Cruncher  was  as  well 
known  to  Fleet-street  and  the  Temple,  as  the  Bar  itself  — 
and  was  almost  as  ill-looking. 

Encamped  at  a  quarter  before  nine,  in  good  time  to  touch 
his  three-cornered  hat  to  the  oldest  of  men  as  they  passed 
in  to  Tellson's,  Jerry  took  up  his  station  on  this  windy 
March  morning,  with  Young  Jerry  standing  by  him,  when 
not  engaged  in  making  forays  through  the  Bar,  to  inflict 
bodily  and  mental  injuries  of  an  acute  description  on  pass- 
ing boys  who  were  small  enough  for  his  amiable  purpose. 
Father  and  son,  extremely  like  each  other,  looking  silently 
on  at  the  morning  traffic  in  Fleet-street,  with  their  two 
heads  as  near  to  one  another  as  the  two  eyes  of  each  were, 
bore  a  considerable  resemblance  to  a  pair  of  monkeys.  The 
resemblance  was  not  lessened  by  the  accidental  circum- 
stance, that  the  mature  Jerry  bit  and  spat  out  straw,  while 
the  twinkling  eyes  of  the  youthful  Jerry  were  as  restlessly 
watchful  of  him  as  of  everything  else  in  Fleet-street. 

The  head  of  one  of  the  regular  in-door  messengers 
attached  to  Tellson's  establishment  was  put  through  the 
door,  and  the  word  was  given : 

"  Porter  wanted !  " 

"Hooray,  father!     Here's  an  early  job  to  begin  with!  " 

Having  thus  given  his  parent  God  speed,  Young  Jerry 
seated  himself  on  the  stool,  entered  on  his  reversionary 
interest  in  the  straw  his  father  had  been  chewing,  and 
cogitated. 

"  Al-ways  rusty !  His  fingers  is  al-ways  rusty ! '  mut- 
tered Young  Jerry.  "Where  does  my  father  get  all  that 
iron  rust  from?     He  don't  get  no  iron  rust  here!  " 


66  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    SIGHT. 

"You  know  the  Old  Bailey  well,  no  doubt?"  said  one  of 
the  oldest  of  clerks  to  Jerry  the  messenger. 

"Ye-es,  sir,"  returned  Jerry,  in  something  of  a  dogged 
manner.     "I  do  know  the  Bailey." 

"Just  so.     And  you  know  Mr.  Lorry?  " 

"I  know  Mr.  Lorry,  sir,  much  better  than  I  know  the 
Bailey.  Much  better,"  said  Jerry,  not  unlike  a  reluctant 
witness  at  the  establishment  in  question,  "than  I,  as  a 
honest  tradesman,  wish  to  know  the  Bailey." 

"Very  well.  Find  the  door  where  the  witnesses  go  in, 
and  show  the  doorkeeper  this  note  for  Mr.  Lorry.  He  will 
then  let  you  in." 

"Into  the  court,  sir?" 

"Into  the  court." 

Mr.  Cruncher's  eyes  seemed  to  get  a  little  closer  to  one 
another,  and  to  interchange  the  inquiry,  "What  do  you 
think  of  this?" 

"Am  I  to  wait  in  the  court,  sir?  "  he  asked,  as  the  result 
of  that  conference. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  The  doorkeeper  will  pass  the 
note  to  Mr.  Lorry,  and  do  you  make  any  gesture  that  will 
attract  Mr.  Lorry's  attention,  and  show  him  where  you 
stand.  Then  what  you  have  to  do,  is,  to  remain  there  until 
he  wants  you." 

"Is  that  all,  sir?" 

"That's  all.  He  wishes  to  have  a  messenger  at  hand. 
This  is  to  tell  him  you  are  there." 

As  the  ancient  clerk  deliberately  folded  and  superscribed 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  67 

the  note,  Mr.  Cruncher,  after  surveying  him  in  silence  until 
he  came  to  the  blotting-paper  stage,  remarked : 

"I  suppose  they'll  be  trying  Forgeries  this  morning?" 

"Treason!" 

"That's  quartering,"  said  Jerry.     "Barbarous!' 

"  It  is  the  law, "  remarked  the  ancient  clerk,  turning  his 
surprised  spectacles  upon  him.     "It  is  the  law." 

"It's  hard  in  the  law  to  spile  a  man,  I  think.  It's  hard 
enough  to  kill  him,  but  it's  wery  hard  to  spile  him,  sir." 

"Not  at  all,"  returned  the  ancient  clerk.  "  Speak  well  of 
the  law.  Take  care  of  your  chest  and  voice,  my  good  friend, 
and  leave  the  law  to  take  care  of  itself.  I  give  you  that 
advice." 

"It's  the  damp,  sir,  what  settles  on  my  chest  and  voice," 
said  Jerry.  "I  leave  you  to  judge  what  a  damp  way  of 
earning  a  living  mine  is." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  old  clerk;  "we  all  have  our  vari- 
ous ways  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  Some  of  us  have  damp 
ways,  and  some  of  us  have  dry  ways.  Here  is  the  letter. 
Go  along." 

Jerry  took  the  letter,  and,  remarking  to  himself  with  less 
internal  deference  than  he  made  an  outward  show  of,  "  You 
are  a  lean  old  one,  too,"  made  his  bow,  informed  his  son,  in 
passing,  of  his  destination,  and  went  his  way. 

They  hanged  at  Tyburn,  in  those  days,  so  the  street  out- 
side Newgate  had  not  obtained  one  infamous  notoriety  that 
has  since  attached  to  it.  But,  the  gaol  was  a  vile  place,  in 
which  most  kinds  of  debauchery  and  villainy  were  practised, 
and  where  dire  diseases  were  bred,  that  came  into  court 
with  the  prisoners,  and  sometimes  rushed  straight  from  the 
dock  at  my  Lord  Chief  Justice  himself,  and  pulled  him  off 
the  bench.  It  had  more  than  once  happened,  that  the  judge 
in  the  black  cap  pronounced  his  own  doom  as  certainly  as 
the  prisoner's,  and  even  died  before  him.     For  the  rest,  the 


68  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Old  Bailey  was  famous  as  a  kind  of  deadly  inn-yard,  from 
which  pale  travellers  set  out  continually,  in  carts  and 
coaches,  on  a  violent  passage  into  the  other  world :  travers- 
ing some  two  miles  and  a  half  of  public  street  and  road, 
and  shaming  few  good  citizens,  if  any.  So  powerful  is  use, 
and  so  desirable  to  be  good  use  in  the  beginning.  It  was 
famous,  too,  for  the  pillory,  a  wise  old  institution,  that 
inflicted  a  punishment  of  which  no  one  could  foresee  the 
extent;  also,  for  the  whipping-post,  another  dear  old  insti- 
tution, very  humanising  and  softening  to  behold  in  action; 
also,  for  extensive  transactions  in  blood-money,  another 
fragment  of  ancestral  wisdom,  systematically  leading  to  the 
most  frightful  mercenary  crimes  that  could  be  committed 
under  Heaven.  Altogether,  the  Old  Bailey,  at  that  date, 
was  a  choice  illustration  of  the  precept,  that  "  Whatever  is 
is  right ;  "  an  aphorism  that  would  be  as  final  as  it  is  lazy, 
did  it  not  include  the  troublesome  consequence,  that  noth- 
ing that  ever  was,  was  wrong. 

Making  his  way  through  the  tainted  crowd,  dispersed  up 
and  down  this  hideous  scene  of  action,  with  the  skill  of  a 
man  accustomed  to  make  his  way  quietly,  the  messenger 
found  out  the  door  he  sought,  and  handed  in  his  letter 
through  a  trap  in  it.  For,  people  then  paid  to  see  the  play 
at  the  Old  Bailey,  just  as  they  paid  to  see  the  play  in  Bed- 
lam —  only  the  former  entertainment  was  much  the  dearer. 
Therefore,  all  the  Old  Bailey  doors  were  well  guarded  — 
except,  indeed,  the  social  doors  by  which  the  criminals  got 
there,  and  those  were  always  left  wide  open. 

After  some  delay  and  demur,  the  door  grudgingly  turned 
on  its  hinges  a  very  little  way,  and  allowed  Mr.  Jerry 
Cruncher  to  squeeze  himself  into  court. 

"What's  on?"  he  asked,  in  a  whisper,  of  the  man  he 
found  himself  next  to. 

" Nothing  yet." 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  69 

" What's  coming  on?" 

"The  Treason  case." 

"The  quartering  one,  eh?" 

"Ah! '  returned  the  man,  with  a  relish;  "he'll  be  drawn 
on  a  hurdle  to  be  half  hanged,  and  then  he'll  be  taken  down 
and  sliced  before  his  own  face,  and  then  his  inside  will  be 
taken  out  and  burnt  while  he  looks  on,  and  then  his  head 
will  be  chopped  off,  and  he'll  be  cut  into  quarters.  That's 
the  sentence." 

"If  he's  found  Guilty,  you  mean  to  say?'  Jerry  added, 
by  way  of  proviso. 

"Oh!  they'll  find  him  Guilty,"  said  the  other.  "Don't 
you  be  afraid  of  that." 

Mr.  Cruncher's  attention  was  here  diverted  to  the  door- 
keeper, whom  he  saw  making  his  way  to  Mr.  Lorry,  with 
the  note  in  his  hand.  Mr.  Lorry  sat  at  a  table,  among  the 
gentlemen  in  wigs:  not  far  from  a  wigged  gentleman,  the 
prisoner's  counsel,  who  had  a  great  bundle  of  papers  before 
him:  and  nearly  opposite  another  wigged  gentleman  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whose  whole  attention,  when  Mr. 
Cruncher  looked  at  him  then  or  afterwards,  seemed  to  be 
concentrated  on  the  ceiling  of  the  court.  After  some  gruff 
coughing  and  rubbing  of  his  chin  and  signing  with  his  hand, 
Jerry  attracted  the  notice  of  Mr.  Lorry,  who  had  stood  up 
to  look  'for  him,  and  who  quietly  nodded,  and  sat  down 
again. 

"What's  he  got  to  do  with  the  case?"  asked  the  man  he 
had  spoken  with. 

"Blest  if  I  know,"  said  Jerry. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it,  then,  if  a  person  may 
inquire?" 

"Blest  if  I  know  that  either,"  said  Jerry. 

The  entrance  of  the  Judge,  and  a  consequent  great  stir 
and    settling-down    in    the    court,    stopped    the    dialogue. 


70  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

Presently,  the  dock  became  the  central  point  of  interest. 
Two  gaolers,  who  had  been  standing  there,  went  out,  and 
the  prisoner  was  brought  in,  and  put  to  the  bar. 

Everybody  present,  except  the  one  wigged  gentleman  who 
looked  at  the  ceiling,  stared  at  him.  All  the  human 
breath  in  the  place,  rolled  at  him,  like  a  sea,  or  a  wind,  or 
a  fire.  Eager  faces  strained  round  pillars  and  corners,  to 
get  a  sight  of  him ;  spectators  in  back  rows  stood  up,  not  to 
miss  a  hair  of  him;  people  on  the  floor  of  the  court,  laid 
their  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  the  people  before  them,  to 
help  themselves,  at  anybody's  cost,  to  a  view  of  him  —  stood 
a-tiptoe,  got  upon  ledges,  stood  upon  next  to  nothing,  to  see 
every  inch  of  him.  Conspicuous  among  these  latter,  like 
an  animated  bit  of  the  spiked  wall  of  Newgate,  Jerry  stood: 
aiming  at  the  prisoner  the  beery  breath  of  a  whet  he  had 
taken  as  he  came  along,  and  discharging  it  to  mingle  with 
the  waves  of  other  beer,  and  gin,  and  tea,  and  coffee,  and 
what  not,  that  flowed  at  him,  and  already  broke  upon  the 
great  windows  behind  him  in  an  impure  mist  and  rain. 

The  object  of  all  this  staring  and  blaring,  was  a  young 
man  of  about  five-and-twenty,  well-grown  and  well-looking, 
with  a  sunburnt  cheek  and  a  dark  eye.  His  condition  was 
that  of  a  young  gentleman.  He  was  plainly  dressed  in 
black,  or  rery  dark  grey,  and  his  hair,  which  was  long  and 
dark,  was  gathered  in  a  ribbon  at  the  back  of  his  neck: 
more  to  be  out  of  his  way  than  for  ornament.  As  an 
emotion  of  the  mind  will  express  itself  through  any  cover- 
ing of  the  body,  so  the  paleness  which  his  situation 
engendered  came  through  the  brown  upon  his  cheek,  show- 
ing the  soul  to  be  stronger  than  the  sun.  He  was  otherwise 
quite  self-possessed,  bowed  to  the  Judge,  and  stood  quiet. 

The  sort  of  interest  with  which  this  man  was  stared  and 
breathed  at,  was  not  a  sort  that  elevated  humanity.  Had 
he  stood  in  peril  of  a  less  horrible  sentence  —  had  there  been 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  71 

a  chance  of  any  one  of  its  savage  details  being  spared  —  by 
just  so  much  would  he  have  lost  in  his  fascination.  The 
form  that  was  to  be  doomed  to  be  so  shamefully  mangled, 
was  the  sight;  the  immortal  creature  that  was  to  be  so 
butchered  and  torn  asunder,  yielded  the  sensation.  What- 
ever gloss  the  various  spectators  put  upon  the  interest, 
according  to  their  several  arts  and  powers  of  self-deceit,  the 
interest  was,  at  the  root  of  it,  Ogreish. 

Silence  in  the  court!  Charles  Darnay  had  yesterday 
pleaded  Not  Guilty  to  an  indictment  denouncing  him  (with 
infinite  jingle  and  jangle)  for  that  he  was  a  false  traitor  to 
our  serene,  illustrious,  excellent,  and  so  forth,  prince,  our 
Lord  the  King,  by  reason  of  his  having,  on  divers  occasions, 
and  by  divers  means  and  ways,  assisted  Lewis,  the  French 
King,  in  his  wars  against  our  said  serene,  illustrious,  excel- 
lent, and  so  forth;  that  was  to  say,  by  coming  and  going 
between  the  dominions  of  our  said  serene,  illustrious,  excel- 
lent, and  so  forth,  and  those  of  the  said  French  Lewis,  and 
wickedly,  falsely,  traitorously,  and  otherwise  evil-adverbi- 
ously,  revealing  to  the  said  French  Lewis  what  forces  our 
said  serene,  illustrious,  excellent,  and  so  forth,  had  in 
preparation  to  send  to  Canada  and  North  America.  This 
much,  Jerry,  with  his  head  becoming  more  and  more  spiky 
as  the  law  terms  bristled  it,  made  out  with  huge  satisfac- 
tion, and  so  arrived  circuitously  at  the  understanding  that 
the  aforesaid,  and  over  and  over  again  aforesaid,  Charles 
Darnay,  stood  there  before  him  upon  his  trial ;  that  the  jury 
were  swearing  in;  and  that  Mr.  Attorney-General  was 
making  ready  to  speak. 

The  accused,  who  was  (and  who  knew  he  was)  being 
mentally  hanged,  beheaded,  and  quartered,  by  everybody 
there,  neither  flinched  from  the  situation,  nor  assumed  any 
theatrical  air  in  it.  He  was  quiet  and  attentive;  watched 
the  opening  proceedings  with  a  grave  interest;   and  stood 


72  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

with  his  hands  resting  on  the  slab  of  wood  before  him,  so 
composedly,  that  they  had  not  displaced  a  leaf  of  the  herbs 
with  which  it  was  strewn.  The  court  was  all  bestrewn 
with  herbs  and  sprinkled  with  vinegar,  as  a  precaution 
against  gaol  air  and  gaol  fever. 

Over  the  prisoner's  head,  there  was  a  mirror,  to  throw 
the  light  down  upon  him.  Crowds  of  the  wicked  and  the 
wretched  had  been  reflected  in  it,  and  had  passed  from  its 
surface  and  this  earth's  together.  Haunted  in  a  most 
ghastly  manner  that  abominable  place  would  have  been,  if 
the  glass  could  ever  have  rendered  back  its  reflexions,  as 
the  ocean  is  one  day  to  give  up  its  dead.  Some  passing 
thought  of  the  infamy  and  disgrace  for  which  it  had  been 
reserved,  may  have  struck  the  prisoner's  mind.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  a  change  in  his  position  making  him  conscious  of  a 
bar  of  light  across  his  face,  he  looked  up ;  and  when  he  saw 
the  glass  his  face  flushed,  and  his  right  hand  pushed  the 
herbs  away. 

It  happened,  that  the  action  turned  his  face  to  that  side 
of  the  court  which  was  on  his  left.  About  on  a  level  with 
his  eyes,  there  sat,  in  that  corner  of  the  Judge's  bench,  two 
persons  upon  whom  his  look  immediately  rested;  so  immedi- 
ately, and  so  much  to  the  changing  of  his  aspect,  that  all 
the  eyes  that  were  turned  upon  him,  turned  to  them. 

The  spectators  saw  in  the  two  figures,  a  young  lady  of 
little  more  than  twenty,  and  a  gentleman  who  was  evidently 
her  father ;  a  man  of  a  very  remarkable  appearance  in  respect 
of  the  absolute  whiteness  of  his  hair,  and  a  certain  inde- 
scribable intensity  of  face :  not  of  an  active  kind,  but  pon- 
dering and  self-communing.  When  this  expression  was 
upon  him,  he  looked  as  if  he  were  old;  but,  when  it  was 
stirred  and  broken  up  —  as  it  was  now,  in  a  moment,  on  his 
speaking  to  his  daughter  —  he  became  a  handsome  man,  not 
past  the  prime  of  life. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  73 

His  daughter  had  one  of  her  hands  drawn  through  his 
arm,  as  she  sat  by  him,  and  the  other  pressed  upon  it.  She 
had  drawn  close  to  him,  in  her  dread  of  the  scene,  and  in 
her  pity  for  the  prisoner.  Her  forehead  had  been  strik- 
ingly expressive  of  an  engrossing  terror  and  compassion 
that  saw  nothing  but  the  peril  of  the  accused.  This  had 
been  so  very  noticeable,  so  very  powerfully  and  naturally 
shown,  that  starers  who  had  had  no  pity  for  him  were 
touched  by  her;  and  the  whisper  went  about,  "Who  are 
they?" 

Jerry  the  messenger,  who  had  made  his  own  observa- 
tions, in  his  own  manner,  and  who  had  been  sucking  the 
rust  off  his  fingers  in  his  absorption,  stretched  his  neck  to 
hear  who  they  were.  The  crowd  about  him  had  pressed 
and  passed  the  inquiry  on  to  the  nearest  attendant,  and  from 
him  it  had  been  more  slowly  pressed  and  passed  back;  at 
last  it  got  to  Jerry : 

"Witnesses." 

"For  which  side?" 

"Against." 

"Against  what  side?" 

"The  prisoner's." 

The  Judge,  whose  eyes  had  gone  in  the  general  direction, 
recalled  them,  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  and  looked  steadily 
at  the  man  whose  life  was  in  his  hand,  as  Mr.  Attorney- 
General  rose  to  spin  the  rope,  grind  the  axe,  and  hammer 
the  nails  into  the  scaffold. 


74  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Mr.  Attorney-General  had  to  inform  the  jury,  that  the 
prisoner  before  them,  though  young  in  years,  was  old  in  the 
treasonable  practices  which  claimed  the  forfeit  of  his  life. 
That  this  correspondence  with  the  public  enemy  was  not  a 
correspondence  of  to-day,  or  of  yesterday,  or  even  of  last 
year,  or  of  the  year  before.  That,  it  was  certain  the  pris- 
oner had,  for  longer  than  that,  been  in  the  habit  of  passing 
and  repassing  between  France  and  England,  on  secret  busi- 
ness of  which  he  could  give  no  honest  account.  That,  if  it 
were  in  the  nature  of  traitorous  ways  to  thrive  (which 
happily  it  never  was),  the  real  wickedness  and  guilt  of  his 
business  might  have  remained  undiscovered.  That  Provi- 
dence, however,  had  put  it  into  the  heart  of  a  person  who 
was  beyond  fear  and  beyond  reproach,  to  ferret  out  the 
nature  of  the  prisoner's  schemes,  and,  struck  with  horror, 
to  disclose  them  to  his  Majesty's  Chief  Secretary  of  State 
and  most  honourable  Privy  Council.  That,  this  patriot 
would  be  produced  before  them.  That,  his  position  and 
attitude  were,  on  the  whole,  sublime.  That,  he  had  been 
the  prisoner's  friend,  but,  at  once  in  an  auspicious  and  an 
evil  hour  detecting  his  infamy,  had  resolved  to  immolate 
the  traitor  he  could  no  longer  cherish  in  his  bosom,  on  the 
sacred  altar  of  his  country.  That,  if  statues  were  decreed 
in  Britain,  as  in  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  to  public  bene- 
factors, this  shining  citizen  would  assuredly  have  had  one. 
That,  as  they  were  not  so  decreed,  he  probably  would  not 
have  one.  That,  Virtue,  as  had  been  observed  by  the  poets 
(in  many  passages  which  he  well  knew  the  jury  would  have, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  75 

word  for  word,  at  the  tips  of  their  tongues;  whereat  the 
jury's  countenances  displayed  a  guilty  consciousness  that 
they  knew  nothing  about  the  passages),  was  in  a  manner 
contagious;  more  especially  the  bright  virtue  known  as 
patriotism,  or  love  of  country.  That,  the  lofty  example  of 
this  immaculate  and  unimpeachable  witness  for  the  Crown, 
to  refer  to  whom  however  unworthily  was  an  honour,  had 
communicated  itself  to  the  prisoner's  servant,  and  had 
engendered  in  him  a  holy  determination  to  examine  his 
master's  table-drawers  and  pockets,  and  secrete  his  papers. 
That,  he  (Mr.  Attorney- General)  was  prepared  to  hear  some 
disparagement  attempted  of  this  admirable  servant;  but 
that,  in  a  general  way,  he  preferred  him  to  his  (Mr. 
Attorney-General's)  brothers  and  sisters,  and  honoured  him 
more  than  his  (Mr.  Attorney-General's)  father  and  mother. 
That,  he  called  with  confidence  on  the  jury  to  come  and  do 
likewise.  That,  the  evidence  of  these  two  witnesses,  coupled 
with  the  documents  of  their  discovering  that  would  be 
produced,  would  show  the  prisoner  to  have  been  furnished 
with  lists  of  his  Majesty's  forces,  and  of  their  disposition 
and  preparation,  both  by  sea  and  land,  and  would  leave  no 
doubt  that  he  had  habitually  conveyed  such  information  to 
a  hostile  power.  That,  these  lists  could  not  be  proved  to 
be  in  the  prisoner's  handwriting;  but  that  it  was  all  the 
same ;  that,  indeed,  it  was  rather  the  better  for  the  prosecu- 
tion, as  showing  the  prisoner  to  be  artful  in  his  precautions. 
That,  the  proof  would  go  back  five  years,  and  would  show 
the  prisoner  already  engaged  in  these  pernicious  missions, 
within  a  few  weeks  before  the  date  of  the  very  first  action 
fought  between  the  British  troops  and  the  Americans. 
That,  for  these  reasons,  the  jury,  being  a  loyal  jury  (as  he 
knew  they  were),  and  being  a  responsible  jury  (as  they  knew 
they  were),  must  positively  find  the  prisoner  Guilty,  and 
make  an  end  of  him,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not.     That, 


76  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

they  never  could  lay  their  heads  upon  their  pillows ;  that, 
they  never  could  tolerate  the  idea  of  their  wives  laying 
their  heads  upon  their  pillows;  that,  they  never  could 
endure  the  notion  of  their  children  laying  their  heads  upon 
their  pillows ;  in  short,  that  there  never  more  could  be,  for 
them  or  theirs,  any  laying  of  heads  upon  pillows  at  all, 
unless  the  prisoner's  head  was  taken  off.  That  head  Mr. 
Attorney-General  concluded  by  demanding  of  them,  in  the 
name  of  everything  he  could  think  of  with  a  round  turn  in 
it,  and  on  the  faith  of  his  solemn  asseveration  that  he 
already  considered  the  prisoner  as  good  as  dead  and  gone. 

When  the  Attorney-General  ceased,  a  buzz  arose  in  the 
court  as  if  a  cloud  of  great  blue-flies  were  swarming  about 
the  prisoner,  in  anticipation  of  what  he  was  soon  to  become 
When  it  toned  down  again,  the  unimpeachable  patriot  ap- 
peared in  the  witness-box. 

Mr.  Solicitor-General  then,  following  his  leader's  lead, 
examined  the  patriot:  John  Barsad,  gentleman,  by  name. 
The  story  of  his  pure  soul  was  exactly  what  Mr.  Attorney- 
General  had  described  it  to  be  —  perhaps,  if  it  had  a  fault, 
a  little  too  exactly.  Having  released  his  noble  bosom  of 
its  burden,  he  would  have  modestly  withdrawn  himself,  but 
that  the  wigged  gentleman  with  the  papers  before  him, 
sitting  not  far  from  Mr.  Lorry,  begged  to  ask  him  a  few 
questions.  The  wigged  gentleman  sitting  opposite,  still 
looking  at  the  ceiling  of  the  court. 

Had  he  ever  been  a  spy  himself?  No,  he  scorned  the 
base  insinuation.  What  did  he  live  upon?  His  property. 
Where  was  his  property?  He  didn't  precisely  remember 
where  it  was.  What  was  it?  No  business  of  anybody's. 
Had  he  inherited  it?  Yes,  he  had.  From  whom?  Dis- 
tant relation.  Very  distant?  Rather.  Ever  been  in 
prison?  Certainly  not.  Never  in  a  debtor's  prison?  Didn't 
see  what  that  had  to  do  with   it.     Never   in  a  debtor's 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  77 

prison?  —  Come,  once  again.  Never?  Yes.  How  many 
times?  Two  or  three  times.  Not  five  or  six?  Perhaps. 
Of  what  profession?  Gentleman.  Ever  been  kicked? 
Might  have  been.  Frequently?  No.  Ever  kicked  down 
stairs?  Decidedly  not;  once  received  a  kick  on  the  top  of 
a  staircase,  and  fell  down  stairs  of  his  own  accord.  Kicked 
on  that  occasion  for  cheating  at  dice?  Something  to  that 
effect  was  said  by  the  intoxicated  liar  who  committed  the 
assault,  but  it  was  not  true.  Swear  it  was  not  true?  Posi- 
tively. Ever  live  by  cheating  at  play?  Never.  Ever  live 
by  play?  Not  more  than  other  gentlemen  do.  Ever  bor- 
row money  of  the  prisoner?  Yes.  Ever  pay  him?  No. 
Was  not  this  intimacy  with  the  prisoner,  in  reality  a  very 
slight  one,  forced  upon  the  prisoner  in  coaches,  inns,  and 
packets?  No.  Sure  he  saw  the  prisoner  with  these  lists? 
Certain.  Knew  no  more  about  the  lists?  No.  Had  not 
procured  them  himself,  for  instance?  No.  Expect  to  get 
anything  by  this  evidence?  No.  Not  in  regular  govern- 
ment pay  and  employment,  to  lay  traps?  Oh  dear  no.  Or 
to  do  anything?  Oh  dear  no.  Swear  that?  Over  and  over 
again.  No  motives  but  motives  of  sheer  patriotism? 
None  whatever. 

The  virtuous  servant,  Roger  Cly,  swore  his  way  through 
the  case  at  a  great  rate.  He  had  taken  service  with  the 
prisoner,  in  good  faith  and  simplicity,  four  years  ago.  He 
had  asked  the  prisoner,  aboard  the  Calais  packet,  if  he 
wanted  a  handy  fellow,  and  the  prisoner  had  engaged  him. 
He  had  not  asked  the  prisoner  to  take  the  handy  fellow  as 
an  act  of  charity  —  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  He 
began  to  have  suspicions  of  the  prisoner,  and  to  keep  an 
eye  upon  him,  soon  afterwards.  In  arranging  his  clothes, 
while  travelling,  he  had  seen  similar  lists  to  these  in  the 
prisoner's  pockets,  over  and  over  again.  He  had  taken 
these  lists  from  the  drawer  of  the  prisoner's  desk.     He 


78  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

had  not  put  them  there  first.  He  had  seen  the  prisoner 
show  these  identical  lists  to  French  gentlemen  at  Calais, 
and  similar  lists  to  French  gentlemen,  both  at  Calais  and 
Boulogne.  He  loved  his  country,  and  couldn't  bear  it, 
and  had  given  information.  He  had  never  been  suspected 
of  stealing  a  silver  teapot;  he  had  been  maligned  respect- 
ing a  mustard-pot,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  only  a  plated 
one.  He  had  known  the  last  witness  seven  or  eight  years; 
that  was  merely  a  coincidence.  He  didn't  call  it  a  particu- 
larly curious  coincidence;  most  coincidences  were  curious. 
Neither  did  he  call  it  a  curious  coincidence  that  true  patri- 
otism was  his  only  motive  too.  He  was  a  true  Briton,  and 
hoped  there  were  many  like  him. 

The  blue-flies  buzzed  again,  and  Mr.  Attorney-General 
called  Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry. 

"Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry,  are  you  a  clerk  in  Tellson's  Bank?" 

"lam." 

"  On  a  certain  Friday  night  in  November  one  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  seventy-five,  did  business  occasion  you 
to  travel  between  London  and  Dover  by  the  mail?  " 

"It  did." 

"Were  there  any  other  passengers  in  the  mail?" 

"Two." 

"Did  they  alight  on  the  road  in  the  course  of  the  night?  " 

"They  did." 

"Mr.  Lorry,  look  upon  the  prisoner.  Was  he  one  of 
those  two  passengers?  " 

"I  cannot  undertake  to  say  that  he  was." 

"Does  he  resemble  either  of  those  two  passengers?" 

"  Both  were  so  wrapped  up,  and  the  night  was  so  dark, 
and  we  were  all  so  reserved,  that  I  cannot  undertake  to  say 
even  that." 

"Mr.  Lorry,  look  again  upon  the  prisoner.  Supposing 
him  wrapped  up  as  those  two  passengers  were,  is  there  any- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  79 

thing  in  his  bulk  and  stature  to  render  it  unlikely  that  he 
was  one  of  them?" 

"No." 

"  You  will  not  swear,  Mr.  Lorry,  that  he  was  not  one  of 
them?" 

"No." 

"  So  at  least  you  say  he  may  have  been  one  of  them?  " 

"Yes.  Except  that  I  remember  them  both  to  have  been 
—  like  myself  —  timorous  of  highwaymen,  and  the  prisoner 
has  not  a  timorous  air." 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  counterfeit  of  timidity,  Mr.  Lorry?" 

"I  certainly  have  seen  that." 

"Mr.  Lorry,  look  once  more  upon  the  prisoner.  Have 
you  seen  him,  to  your  certain  knowledge,  before?" 

"I  have." 

"When?" 

"I  was  returning  from  France  a  few  days  afterwards, 
and,  at  Calais,  the  prisoner  came  on  board  the  packet-ship 
in  which  I  returned,  and  made  the  voyage  with  me." 

"At  what  hour  did  he  come  on  board?" 

"At  a  little  after  midnight." 

"In  the  dead  of  the  night.  Was  he  the  only  passenger 
who  came  on  board  at  "that  untimely  hour?" 

"He  happened  to  be  the  only  one." 

"Never  mind  about  ' happening, '  Mr.  Lorry.  He  was 
the  only  passenger  who  came  on  board  in  the  dead  of  the 
night?" 

"He  was." 

"  Were  you  travelling  alone,  Mr.  Lorry,  or  with  any  com- 
panion? " 

"With  two  companions.  A  gentleman  and  lady.  They 
are  here." 

"They  are  here.  Had  you  any  conversation  with  the 
prisoner?" 


80  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Hardly  any.  The  weather  was  stormy,  and  the  pas- 
sage long  and  rough,  and  I  lay  on  a  sofa,  almost  from  shore 
to  shore." 

"  Miss  Manette !  " 

The  young  lady,  to  whom  all  eyes  had  been  turned  be- 
fore, and  were  now  turned  again,  stood  up  where  she  had 
sat.  Her  father  rose  with  her,  and  kept  her  hand  drawn 
through  his  arm. 

"Miss  Manette,  look  upon  the  prisoner." 

To  be  confronted  with  such  pity,  and  such  earnest  youth 
and  beauty,  was  far  more  trying  to  the  accused  than  to  be 
confronted  with  all  the  crowd.  Standing,  as  it  were,  apart 
with  her  on  the  edge  of  his  grave,  not  all  the  staring  curi- 
osity that  looked  on,  could,  for  the  moment,  nerve  him  to 
remain  quite  still.  His  hurried  right  hand  parcelled  out 
the  herbs  before  him  into  imaginary  beds  of  flowers  in  a 
garden ;  and  his  efforts  to  control  and  steady  his  breathing, 
shook  the  lips  from  which  the  colour  rushed  to  his  heart. 
The  buzz  of  the  great  flies  was  loud  again. 

"Miss  Manette,  have  you  seen  the  prisoner  before?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where?" 

"  On  board  of  the  packet-ship  just  now  referred  to,  sir, 
and  on  the  same  occasion." 

"You  are  the  young  lady  just  now  referred  to?" 

"  0 !  most  unhappily,  I  am !  " 

The  plaintive  tone  of  her  compassion  merged  into  the 
less  musical  voice  of  the  Judge,  as  he  said,  something 
fiercely :  "  Answer  the  questions  put  to  you,  and  make  no 
remark  upon  them." 

"  Miss  Manette,  had  you  any  conversation  with  the  pris- 
oner on  that  passage  across  the  Channel?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Kecallit." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  81 

In  the  midst  of  a  profound  stillness,  she  faintly  began : 

"  When  the  gentleman  came  on  board " 

"Do  you  mean  the  prisoner?"  inquired  the  Judge,  knit- 
ting his  brows. 

"Yes,  My  Lord." 

"Then  say  the  prisoner." 

"When  the  prisoner  came  on  board,  he  noticed  that  my 
father,"  turning  her  eyes  lovingly  to  him  as  he  stood  be- 
side her,  "  was  much  fatigued  and  in  a  very  weak  state  of 
health.  My  father  was  so  reduced,  that  I  was  afraid  to 
take  him  out  of  the  air,  and  I  had  made  a  bed  for  him  on 
the  deck  near  the  cabin  steps,  and  I  sat  on  the  deck  at  his 
side  to  take  care  of  him.  There  were  no  other  passengers 
that  night,  but  we  four.  The  prisoner  was  so  good  as  to 
beg  permission  to  advise  me  how  I  could  shelter  my  father 
from  the  wind  and  weather,  better  than  I  had  done.  I 
had  not  known  how  to  do  it  well,  not  understanding  how 
the  wind  would  set  when  we  were  out  of  the  harbour.  He 
did  it  for  me.  He  expressed  great  gentleness  and  kindness 
for  my  father's  state,  and  I  am  sure  he  felt  it.  That  was 
the  manner  of  our  beginning  to  speak  together." 

"  Let  me  interrupt  you  for  a  moment.  Had  he  come  on 
board  alone?" 

"No." 

"How  many  were  with  him?" 

"Two  French  gentlemen." 

"Had  they  conferred  together?'" 

"They  had  conferred  together  until  the  last  moment, 
when  it  was  necessary  for  the  "French  gentlemen  to  be 
landed  in  their  boat." 

"Had  any  papers  been  handed  about  among  them,  similar 
to  these  lists?" 

"  Some  papers  had  been  handed  about  among  them,  but  I 
don't  know  what  papers." 


82  A  TALE  OF   TWO  CITIES. 

"Like  these  in  shape  and  size?" 

"  Possibly,  but  indeed  I  don't  know,  although  they  stood 
whispering  very  near  to  me :  because  they  stood  at  the  top 
of  the  cabin  steps  to  have  the  light  of  the  lamp  that  was 
hanging  there;  it  was  a  dull  lamp,  and  they  spoke  very 
low,  and  I  did  not  hear  what  they  said,  and  saw  only  that 
they  looked  at  papers." 

"Now,  to  the  prisoner's  conversation,  Miss  Manette." 

"  The  prisoner  was  as  open  in  his  confidence  with  me  — 
which  arose  out  of  my  helpless  situation  —  as  he  was  kind, 
and  good,  and  useful  to  my  father.  I  hope, "  bursting  into 
tears,  "I  may  not  repay  him  by  doing  him  harm  to-day." 

Buzzing  from  the  blue-flies. 

"  Miss  Manette,  if  the  prisoner  does  not  perfectly  under- 
stand that  you  give  the  evidence  which  it  is  your  duty  to 
give  —  which  you  must  give  —  and  which  you  cannot  escape 
from  giving  —  with  great  unwillingness,  he  is  the  only 
person  present  in  that  condition.     Please  to  go  on." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  was  travelling  on  business  of  a  del- 
icate and  difficult  nature,  which  might  get  people  into 
trouble,  and  that  he  was  therefore  travelling  under  an 
assumed  name.  He  said  that  this  business  had,  within  a 
few  days,  taken  him  to  France,  and  might,  at  intervals, 
take  him  backwards  and  forwards  between  France  and  Eng- 
land for  a  long  time  to  come." 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  America,  Miss  Manette? 
Be  particular." 

"  He  tried  to  explain  to  me  how  that  quarrel  had  arisen, 
and  he  said  that,  so  far  as  he  could  judge,  it  was  a  wrong 
and  foolish  one  on  England's  part.  He  added,  in  a  jesting 
way,  that  perhaps  George  Washington  might  gain  almost 
as  great  a  name  in  history  as  George  the  Third.  But  there 
was  no  harm  in  his  way  of  saying  this :  it  was  said  laugh- 
ingly, and  to  beguile  the  time." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  83 

Any  strongly  marked  expression  of  face  on  the  part  of  a 
chief  actor  in  a  scene  of  great  interest  to  whom  many  eyes 
are  directed,  will  be  unconsciously  imitated  by  the  specta- 
tors. Her  forehead  was  painfully  anxious  and  intent  as 
she  gave  this  evidence,  and,  in  the  pauses  when  she  stopped 
for  the  Judge  to  write  it  down,  watched  its  effect  upon  the 
Counsel  for  and  against.  Among  the  lookers-on  there  was 
the  same  expression  in  all  quarters  of  the  court;  insomuch, 
that  a  great  majority  of  the  foreheads  there,  might  have 
been  mirrors  reflecting  the  witness,  when  the  Judge  looked 
up  from  his  notes  to  glare  at  that  tremendous  heresy  about 
George  Washington. 

Mr.  Attorney-General  now  signified  to  My  Lord,  that  he 
deemed  it  necessary,  as  a  matter  of  precaution  and  form,  to 
call  the  young  lady's  father,  Doctor  Manette.  Who  was 
called  accordingly. 

"Doctor  Manette,  look  upon  the  prisoner.  Have  you 
ever  seen  him  before?  " 

"Once.  When  he  called  at  my  lodgings  in  London. 
Some  three  years,  or  three  years  and  a  half  ago." 

"  Can  you  identify  him  as  your  fellow-passenger  on  board 
the  packet,  or  speak  to  his  conversation  with  your  daugh- 
ter?" 

"Sir,  I  can  do  neither." 

"  Is  there  any  particular  and  special  reason  for  your  being 
unable  to  do  either?  " 

He  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  "There  is." 

"  Has  it  been  your  misfortune  to  undergo  a  long  impris- 
onment, without  trial,  or  even  accusation,  in  your  native 
country,  Doctor  Manette?" 

He  answered,  in  a  tone  that  went  to  every  heart,  "  A  long 
imprisonment." 

"Were  you  newly  released  on  the  occasion  in  question?" 

"They  tell  me  so." 


84  A   TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES. 

"Have  you  no  remembrance  of  the  occasion?" 

"None.  My  mind  is  a  blank,  from  some  time  —  I  can- 
not even  say  what  time  —  when  I  employed  myself,  in 
my  captivity,  in  making  shoes,  to  the  time  when  I  found 
myself  living  in  London  with  my  dear  daughter  here.  She 
had  become  familiar  to  me,  when  a  gracious  God  restored  my 
faculties ;  but,  I  am  quite  unable  even  to  say  how  she  had 
become  familiar.      I  have  no  remembrance  of  the  process." 

Mr.  Attorney-General  sat  down,  and  the  father  and 
daughter  sat  down  together. 

A  singular  circumstance  then  arose  in  the  case.  The 
object  in  hand,  being,  to  show  that  the  prisoner  went 
down,  with  some  fellow-plotter  untracked,  in  the  Dover 
mail  on  that  Friday  night  in  November  five  years  ago,  and 
got  out  of  the  mail  in  the  night,  as  a  blind,  at  a  place  where 
he  did  not  remain,  but  from  which  he  travelled  back  some 
dozen  miles  or  more,  to  a  garrison  and  dockyard,  and  there 
collected  information;  a  witness  was  called  to  identify 
him  as  having  been  at  the  precise  time  required,  in  the 
coffee-room  of  an  hotel  in  that  garrison-and-dockyard  town, 
waiting  for  another  person.  The  prisoner's  counsel  was 
cross-examining  this  witness  with  no  result,  except  that  he 
had  never  seen  the  prisoner  on  any  other  occasion,  when 
the  wigged  gentleman  who  had  all  this  time  been  looking 
at  the  ceiling  of  the  court,  wrote  a  word  or  two  on  a  little 
piece  of  paper,  screwed  it  up,  and  tossed  it  to  him.  Open- 
ing this  piece  of  paper  in  the  next  pause,  the  counsel  looked 
with  great  attention  and  curiosity  at  the  prisoner. 

"  You  say  again  you  are  quite  sure  that  it  was  the  pris- 
oner?" 

The  witness  was  quite  sure. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anybody  very  like  the  prisoner?" 

Not  so  like  (the  witness  said),  as  that  he  could  be  mis- 
taken. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  85 

"Look  well  upon  that  gentleman,  my  learned  friend, 
there,"  pointing  to  him  who  had  tossed  the  paper  over, 
"and  then  look  well  upon  the  prisoner.  How  say  you? 
Are  they  very  like  each  other?" 

Allowing  for  my  learned  friend's  appearance  being  care- 
less and  slovenly,  if  not  debauched,  they  were  sufficiently 
like  each  other  to  surprise,  not  only  the  witness,  but  every- 
body present,  when  they  were  thus  brought  into  compari- 
son. My  Lord  being  prayed  to  bid  my  learned  friend  lay 
aside  his  wig,  and  giving  no  very  gracious  consent,  the 
likeness  became  much  more  remarkable.  My  Lord  inquired 
of  Mr.  Stryver  (the  prisoner's  counsel),  whether  they  were 
next  to  try  Mr.  Carton  (name  of  my  learned  friend)  for 
treason?  But,  Mr.  Stryver  replied  to  My  Lord,  no;  but  he 
would  ask  the  witness  to  tell  him  whether  what  happened 
once,  might  happen  twice;  whether  he  would  have  been  so 
confident  if  he  had  seen  this  illustration  of  his  rashness 
sooner;  whether  he  would  be  so  confident,  having  seen  it; 
and  more.  The  upshot  of  which,  was,  to  smash  this  wit- 
ness like  a  crockery  vessel,  and  shiver-  his  part  of  the  case 
to  useless  lumber. 

Mr.  Cruncher  had  by  this  time  taken  quite  a  lunch  of 
rust  off  his  fingers,  in  his  following  of  the  evidence.  He 
had  now  to  attend  while  Mr.  Stryver  fitted  the  prisoner's 
case  on  the  jury,  like  a  compact  suit  of  clothes;  showing 
them  how  the  patriot,  Barsad,  was  a  hired  spy  and  traitor, 
an  unblushing  trafficker  in  blood,  and  one  of  the  greatest 
scoundrels  upon  earth  since  accursed  Judas  —  which  he 
certainly  did  look  rather  like.  How  the  virtuous  servant, 
Cly,  was  his  friend  and  partner,  and  was  worthy  to  be; 
how  the  watchful  eyes  of  those  forgers  and  false  swearers 
had  rested  on  the  prisoner  as  a  victim,  because  some  family 
affairs  in  France,  he  being  of  French  extraction,  did  require 
his  making  those  passages  across  the  Channel  —  though 


86  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

what  those  affairs  were,  a  consideration  for  others  who  were 
near  and  dear  to  him,  forbad  him,  even  for  his  life,  to  dis- 
close. How  the  evidence  that  had  been  warped  and  wrested 
from  the  young  lady,  whose  anguish  in  giving  it  they  had 
witnessed,  came  to  nothing,  involving  the  mere  little  inno- 
cent gallantries  and  politenesses  likely  to  pass  between  any 
young  gentleman  and  young  lady  so  thrown  together :  — 
with  the  exception  of  that  reference  to  George  Washington, 
which  was  altogether  too  extravagant  and  impossible,  to  be 
regarded  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  monstrous  joke.  How 
it  would  be  a  weakness  in  the  government  to  break  down  in 
this  attempt  to  practise  for  popularity  on  the  lowest  national 
antipathies  and  fears,  and  therefore  Mr.  Attorney-General 
had  made  the  most  of  it;  how,  nevertheless,  it  rested  upon 
nothing,  save  that  vile  and  infamous  character  of  evidence 
too  often  disfiguring  such  cases,  and  of  which  the  State 
Trials  of  this  country  were  full.  But,  there  My  Lord  inter- 
posed (with  as  grave  a  face  as  if  it  had  not  been  true),  say- 
ing that  he  could  not  sit  upon  that  Bench  and  suffer  those 
allusions. 

Mr.  Stryver  then  called  his  few  witnesses,  and  Mr. 
Cruncher  had  next  to  attend  while  Mr.  Attorney-General 
turned  the  whole  suit  of  clothes  Mr.  Stryver  had  fitted  on 
the  jury,  inside  out;  showing  how  Barsad  and  Cly  were 
even  a  hundred  times  better  than  he  had  thought  them,  and 
the  prisoner  a  hundred  times  worse.  Lastly,  came  My 
Lord  himself,  turning  the  suit  of  clothes,  now  inside  out, 
now  outside  in,  but  on  the  whole  decidedly  trimming  and 
shaping  them  into  grave-clothes  for  the  prisoner. 

And  now,  the  jury  turned  to  consider,  and  the  great  flies 
swarmed  again. 

Mr.  Carton,  who  had  so  long  sat  looking  at  the  ceiling 
of  the  court,  changed  neither  his  place  nor  his  attitude, 
even  in  this  excitement.     While  his  learned  friend,  Mr. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  87 

Stryver,  massing  his  papers  before  him,  whispered  with 
those  who  sat  near,  and  from  time  to  time  glanced  anx- 
iously at  the  jury;  while  all  the  spectators  moved  more  or 
less,  and  grouped  themselves  anew;  while  even  My  Lord 
himself  arose  from  his  seat,  and  slowly  paced  up  and  down 
his  platform,  not  unattended  by  a  suspicion  in  the  minds  of 
the  audience  that  his  state  was  feverish;  this  one  man  sat 
leaning  back,  with  his  torn  gown  half  off  him,  his  untidy 
wig  put  on  just  as  it  had  happened  to  light  on  his  head 
after  its  removal,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  eyes  on 
the  ceiling  as  they  had  been  all  day.  Something  especially 
reckless  in  his  demeanour,  not  only  gave  him  a  disreputa- 
ble look,  but  so  diminished  the  strong  resemblance  he  un- 
doubtedly bore  to  the  prisoner  (which  his  momentary 
earnestness,  when  they  were  compared  together,  had 
strengthened),  that  many  of  the  lookers-on,  taking  note  of 
him  now,  said  to  one  another  they  would  hardly  have 
thought  the  two  were  so  alike.  Mr.  Cruncher  made  the 
observation  to  his  next  neighbour,  and  added,  "I'd  hold 
half  a  guinea  that  he  don't  get  no  law-work  to  do.  Don't 
look  like  the  sort  of  one  to  get  any,  do  he?  " 

Yet,  this  Mr.  Carton  took  in  more  of  the  details  of  the 
scene  than  he  appeared  to  take  in;  for  now,  when  Miss 
Manette's  head  dropped  upon  her  father's  breast,  he  was 
the  first  to  see  it,  and  to  say  audibly :  "  Officer !  look  to  that 
young  lady.  Help  the  gentleman  to  take  her  out.  Don't 
you  see  she  will  fall !  " 

There  was  much  commiseration  for  her  as  she  was  re- 
moved, and  much  sympathy  with  her  father.  It  had  evi- 
dently been  a  great  distress  to  him,  to  have  the  days  of  his 
imprisonment  recalled.  He  had  shown  strong  internal 
agitation  when  he  was  questioned,  and  that  pondering  or 
brooding  look  which  made  him  old,  had  been  upon  him,  like 
a  heavy  cloud,  ever  since.     As  he  passed  out,  the  jury,  who 


88  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

had  turned  back  and  paused  a  moment,  spoke,  through  their 
foreman. 

They  were  not  agreed,  and  wished  to  retire.  My  Lord 
(perhaps  with  George  Washington  on  his  mind)  showed 
some  surprise  that  they  were  not  agreed,  but  signified  his 
pleasure  that  they  should  retire  under  watch  and  ward,  and 
retired  himself.  The  trial  had  lasted  all  day,  and  the 
lamps  in  the  court  were  now  being  lighted.  It  began  to  be 
rumoured  that  the  jury  would  be  out  a  long  while.  The 
spectators  dropped  off  to  get  refreshment,  and  the  prisoner 
withdrew  to  the  back  of  the  dock,  and  sat  down. 

Mr.  Lorry,  who  had  gone  out  when  the  young  lady  and 
her  father  went  out,  now  reappeared,  and  beckoned  to 
Jerry:  who,  in  the  slackened  interest,  could  easily  get 
near  him. 

"Jerry,  if  you  wish  to  take  something  to  eat,  you  can. 
But,  keep  in  the  way.  You  will  be  sure  to  hear  when  the 
jury  come  in.  Don't  be  a  moment  behind  them,  for  I  want 
you  to  take  the  verdict  back  to  the  bank.  You  are  the 
quickest  messenger  I  know,  and  will  get  to  Temple  Bar 
long  before  I  can." 

Jerry  had  just  enough  forehead  to  knuckle,  and  he 
knuckled  it  in  acknowledgment  of  this  communication  and 
a  shilling.  Mr.  Carton  came  up  at  the  moment,  and  touched 
Mr.  Lorry  on  the  arm. 

"How  is  the  young  lady?" 

"She  is  greatly  distressed;  but  her  father  is  comforting 
her,  and  she  feels  the  better  for  being  out  of  court." 

"I'll  tell  the  prisoner  so.  It  won't  do  for  a  respectable 
bank-gentleman  like  you,  to  be  seen  speaking  to  him  pub- 
licly, you  know." 

Mr.  Lorry  reddened,  as  if  he  were  conscious  of  having 
debated  the  point  in  his  mind,  and  Mr.  Carton  made  his 
way  to  the  outside  of  the  bar.     The  way  out  of  court  lay 


A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES.  89 

in  that  direction,  and  Jerry  followed  him,  all  eyes,  ears, 
and  spikes. 

"  Mr.  Darnay !  " 

The  prisoner  came  forward  directly. 

"You  will  naturally  be  anxious  to  hear  of  the  witness, 
Miss  Manette.  She  will  do  very  well.  You  have  seen  the 
worst  of  her  agitation." 

"  I  am  deeply  sorry  to  have  been  the  cause  of  it.  Could 
you  tell  her  so  for  me,  with  my  fervent  acknowledgments? '; 

"Yes,  I  could.     I  will,  if  you  ask  it." 

Mr.  Carton's  manner  was  so  careless  as  to  be  almost  in- 
solent. He  stood,  half  turned  from  the  prisoner,  lounging 
with  his  elbow  against  the  bar. 

"I  do  ask  it.     Accept  my  cordial  thanks." 

"What, "'said  Carton,  still  only  half  turned  towards  him, 
"do  you  expect,  Mr.  Darnay?" 

"The  worst." 

"  It's  the  wisest  thing  to  expect,  and  the  likeliest.  But 
I  think  their  withdrawing  is  in  your  favour." 

Loitering  on  the  way  out  of  court  not  being  allowed, 
Jerry  heard  no  more ;  but  left  them  —  so  like  each  other  in 
feature,  so  unlike  each  other  in  manner  —  standing  side  by 
side,  both  reflected  in  the  glass  above  them. 

An  hour  and  a  half  limped  heavily  away  in  the  thief-and- 
rascal-crowded  passages  below,  even  though  assisted  off 
with  mutton  pies  and  ale.  The  hoarse  messenger,  uncom- 
fortably seated  on  a  form  after  taking  that  refection,  had 
dropped  into  a  doze,  when  a  loud  murmur  and  a  rapid  tide 
of  people  setting  up  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  court,  carried 
him  along  with  them. 

"Jerry!  Jerry!"  Mr.  Lorry  was  already  calling  at  the 
door  when  he  got  there. 

"Here,  sir!  It's  a  fight  to  get  back  again.  Here  I  am, 
sir!" 


90  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Mr.  Lorry  handed  him  a  paper  through  the  throng. 
"Quick!     Have  you  got  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Hastily  written  on  the  paper  was  the  word  "Acquitted." 

"If  you  had  sent  the  message,  '  Eecalled  to  Life/  again," 
muttered  Jerry,  as  he  turned,  "  I  should  have  known  what 
you  meant,  this  time." 

He  had  no  opportunity  of  saying,  or  so  much  as  thinking, 
anything  else,  until  he  was  clear  of  the  Old  Bailey;  for, 
the  crowd  came  pouring  out  with  a  vehemence  that  nearly 
took  him  off  his  legs,  and  a  loud  buzz  swept  into  the  street 
as  if  the  baffled  blue-flies  were  dispersing  in  search  of  other 
carrion. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CONGRATULATORY. 


From  the  dimly-lighted  passages  of  the  court,  the  last 
sediment  of  the  human  stew  that  had  been  boiling  there 
all  day,  was  straining  off,  when  Doctor  Manette,  Lucie 
Manette  his  daughter,  Mr.  Lorry,  the  solicitor  for  the 
defence,  and  its  counsel  Mr.  Stryver,  stood  gathered  around 
Mr.  Charles  Darnay  —  just  released  —  congratulating  him 
on  his  escape  from  death. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  by  a  far  brighter  light,  to 
recognise  in  Doctor  Manette,  intellectual  of  face  and  up- 
right of  bearing,  the  shoemaker  of  the  garret  in  Paris. 
Yet,  no  one  could  have  looked  at  him  twice,  without  look- 
ing again :  even  though  the  opportunity  of  observation  had 
not  extended  to  the  mournful  cadence  of  his  low  grave 
voice,  and  to  the  abstraction  that  overclouded  him  fitfully, 
without  any  apparent  reason.  While  one  external  cause, 
and  that  a  reference  to  his  long  lingering  agony,  would 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  91 

always  —  as  on  the  trial  — ■  evoke  this  condition  from  the 
depths  of  his  soul,  it  was  also  in  its  nature  to  arise  of 
itself,  and  to  draw  a  gloom  over  him,  as  incomprehensible 
to  those  unacquainted  with  his  story  as  if  they  had  seen 
the  shadow  of  the  actual  Bastille  thrown  upon  him  by 
a  summer  sun,  when  the  substance  was  three  hundred 
miles  away. 

Only  his  daughter  had  the  power  of  charming  this  black 
brooding  from  his  mind.  She  was  the  golden  thread  that 
united  him  to  a  Past  beyond  his  misery,  and  to  a  Present 
beyond  his  misery :  and  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the  light  of 
her  face,  the  touch  of  her  hand,  had  a  strong  beneficial  in- 
fluence with  him  almost  always.  Not  absolutely  always, 
for  she  could  recall  some  occasions  on  which  her  power  had 
failed;  but,  they  were  few  and  slight,  and  she  believed 
them  over. 

Mr.  Darnay  had  kissed  her  hand  fervently  and  gratefully, 
and  had  turned  to  Mr.  Stryver,  whom  he  warmly  thanked. 
Mr.  Stryver,  a  man  of  little  more  than  thirty,  but  looking 
twenty  years  older  than  he  was,  stout,  loud,  red,  bluff,  and 
free  from  any  drawback  of  delicacy,  had  a  pushing  way  of 
shouldering  himself  (morally  and  physically)  into  com- 
panies and  conversations,  that  argued  well  for  his  shoul- 
dering his  way  up  in  life. 

He  still  had  his  wig  and  gown  on,  and  he  said,  squaring 
himself  at  his  late  client  to  that  degree  that  he  squeezed 
the  innocent  Mr.  Lorry  clean  out  of  the  group :  "  1  am  glad 
to  have  brought  you  off  with  honour,  Mr.  Darnay.  It  was 
an  infamous  prosecution,  grossly  infamous ;  but  not  the  less 
likely  to  succeed,  on  that  account." 

"  You  have  laid  me  under  an  obligation  to  you  for  life  — 
in  two  senses,"  said  his  late  client,  taking  his  hand. 

"  I  have  done  my  best  for  you,  Mr.  Darnay ;  and  my  best 
is  as  good  as  another  man's,  I  believe." 


92  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES, 

It  clearly  being  incumbent  on  somebody  to  say,  "  Much 
better,"  Mr.  Lorry  said  it;  perhaps  not  quite  disinterest- 
edly, but  with  the  interested  object  of  squeezing  himself 
back  again. 

"You  think  so?"  said  Mr.  Stryver.  "Well!  you  have 
been  present  all  day,  and  you  ought  to  know.  You  are  a 
man  of  business,  too." 

"And  as  such,"  quoth  Mr.  Lorry,  whom  the  counsel 
learned  in  the  law  had  now  shouldered  back  into  the  group, 
just  as  he  had  previously  shouldered  him  out  of  it  —  "  as 
such,  I  will  appeal  to  Doctor  Manette,  to  break  up  this 
conference  and  order  us  all  to  our  homes.  Miss  Lucie  looks 
ill,  Mr.  Darnay  has  had  a  terrible  day,  we  are  worn  out. " 

"Speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Lorry,"  said  Stryver;  "I  have 
a  night's  work  to  do  yet.     Speak  for  yourself." 

"I  speak  for  myself,"  answered  Mr.  Lorry,  "and  for  Mr. 

Darnay,  and  for  Miss  Lucie,  and Miss  Lucie,  do  you 

not  think  I  may  speak  for  us  all?"  He  asked  her  the 
question  pointedly,  and  with  a  glance  at  her  father. 

His  face  had  become  frozen,  as  it  were,  in  a  very  curious 
look  at  Darnay:  an  intent  look,  deepening  into  a  frown  of 
dislike  and  distrust,  not  even  unmixed  with  fear.  With 
this  strange  expression  on  him  his  thoughts  had  wandered 
away. 

"My  father,"  said  Lucie,  softly  laying  her  hand  on  his. 

He  slowly  shook  the  shadow  off,  and  turned  to  her. 

"  Shall  we  go  home,  my  father?  " 

With  a  long  breath,  he  answered,  "Yes." 

The  friends  of  the  acquitted  prisoner  had  dispersed, 
under  the  impression  —  which  he  himself  had  originated 
—  that  he  would  not  be  released  that  night.  The  lights 
were  nearly  all  extinguished  in  the  passages,  the  iron  gates 
were  being  closed  with  a  jar  and  a  rattle,  and  the  dismal 
place  was  deserted  until  to-morrow  morning's  interest  of 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  93 

gallows,  pillory,  whipping-post,  and  branding-iron,  should 
repeople  it.  Walking  between  her  father  and  Mr.  Darnay, 
Lucie  Manette  passed  into  the  open  air.  A  hackney-coach 
was  called,  and  the  father  and  daughter  departed  in  it. 

Mr.  Stryver  had  left  them  in  the  passages,  to  shoulder 
his  way  back  to  the  robing-room.  Another  person  who  had 
not  joined  the  group,  or  interchanged  a  word  with  any  one 
of  them,  but  who  had  been  leaning  against  the  wall  where 
its  shadow  was  darkest,  had  silently  strolled  out  after  the 
rest,  and  had  looked  on  until  the  coach  drove  away.  He 
now  stepped  up  to  where  Mr.  Lorry  and  Mr.  Darnay  stood 
upon  the  pavement. 

"So,  Mr.  Lorry!  Men  of  business  may  speak  to  Mr. 
Darnay  now?" 

Nobody  had  made  any  acknowledgment  of  Mr.  Carton's 
part  in  the  day's  proceedings ;  nobody  had  known  of  it.  He 
was  unrobed,  and  was  none  the  better  for  it  in  appearance. 

"If  you  knew  what  a  conflict  goes  on  in  the  business 
mind,  when  the  business  mind  is  divided  between  good- 
natured  impulse  and  business  appearances,  you  would  be 
amused,  Mr.  Darnay." 

Mr.  Lorry  reddened,  and  said  warmly,  "  You  have  men- 
tioned that  before,  sir.  We  men  of  business,  who  serve  a 
House,  are  not  our  own  masters.  We  have  to  think  of  the 
House  more  than  ourselves." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  rejoined  Mr.  Carton,  carelessly. 
"  Don't  be  nettled,  Mr.  Lorry.  You  are  as  good  as  another, 
I  have  no  doubt;  better,  I  dare  say." 

"And  indeed,  sir,"  pursued  Mr.  Lorry,  not  minding  him, 
"  I  really  don't  know  what  you  have  to  do  with  the  matter. 
If  you'll  excuse  me,  as  very  much  your  elder,  for  saying 
so,  I  really  don't  know  that  it  is  your  business." 

"Business!  Bless  you,  /  have  no  business,"  said  Mr. 
Carton. 


94  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"It  is  a  pity  you  have  not,  sir." 

" I  think  so  too." 

"If  you  had,"  pursued  Mr.  Lorry,  "perhaps  you  would 
attend  to  it." 

"Lord  love  you,  no!  — I  shouldn't,"  said  Mr.  Carton. 

"Well,  sir!"  cried  Mr.  Lorry,  thoroughly  heated  by  his 
indifference,  "business  is  a  very  good  thing,  and  a  very 
respectable  thing.  And,  sir,  if  business  imposes  its  re- 
straints and  its  silences  and  impediments,  Mr.  Darnay  as  a 
young  gentleman  of  generosity  knows  how  to  make  allow- 
ance for  that  circumstance.  Mr.  Darnay,  good  night,  God 
bless  you,  sir!  I  hope  you  have  been  this  day  preserved 
for  a  prosperous  and  happy  life.  —  Chair  there!  " 

Perhaps  a  little  angry  with  himself,  as  well  as  with  the 
barrister,  Mr.  Lorry  bustled  into  the  chair,  and  was  carried 
off  to  Tellson's.  Carton,  who  smelt  of  port  wine,  and  did 
not  appear  to  be  quite  sober,  laughed  then,  and  turned  to 
Darnay : 

"This  is  a  strange  chance  that  throws  you  and  me  to- 
gether. This  must  be  a  strange  night  to  you,  standing  alone 
here  with  your  counterpart  on  these  street-stones?" 

"I  hardly  seem  yet,"  returned  Charles  Darnay,  "to  be- 
long to  this  world  again." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  it;  it's  not  so  long  since  you  were 
pretty  far  advanced  on  your  way  to  another.  You  speak 
faintly." 

"I  begin  to  think  I  am  faint." 

"Then  why  the  devil  don't  you  dine?  I  dined,  myself, 
while  those  numskulls  were  deliberating  which  world  you 
should  belong  to  —  this,  or  some  other.  Let  me  show  you 
the  nearest  tavern  to  dine  well  at." 

Drawing  his  arm  through  his  own,  he  took  him  down 
Ludgate-hill  to  Fleet-street,  and  so,  up  a  covered  way,  into 
a  tavern.     Here,  they  were  shown  into  a  little  room,  where 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  95 

Charles  Darnay  was  soon  recruiting  his  strength  with  a 
good  plain  dinner  and  good  wine :  while  Carton  sat  oppo- 
site to  him  at  the  same  table,  with  his  separate  bottle  of  port 
before  him,  and  his  fully  half-insolent  manner  upon  him. 

"Do  you  feel,  yet,  that  you  belong  to  this  terrestrial 
scheme  again,  Mr.  Darnay?" 

"  I  am  frightfully  confused  regarding  time  and  place ;  but 
I  am  so  far  mended  as  to  feel  that." 

"It  must  be  an  immense  satisfaction!  " 

He  said  it  bitterly,  and  filled  up  his  glass  again:  which 
was  a  large  one. 

"  As  to  me,  the  greatest  desire  I  have,  is  to  forget  that  I 
belong  to  it.  It  has  no  good  in  it  for  me  —  except  wine 
like  this  —  nor  I  for  it.  So  we  are  not  much  alike  in  that 
particular.  Indeed,  I  begin  to  think  we  are  not  much  alike 
in  any  particular,  you  and  I." 

Confused  by  the  emotion  of  the  day,  and  feeling  his 
being  there  with  this  Double  of  coarse  deportment,  to  be 
like  a  dream,  Charles  Darnay  was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer; 
finally,  answered  not  at  all. 

"Now  your  dinner  is  done,"  Carton  presently  said,  "why 
don't  you  call  a  health,  Mr.  Darnay;  why  don't  you  give 
your  toast?  " 

"  What  health?    What  toast?  " 

"Why,  it's  on  the  tip  of  your  tongue.  It  ought  to  be,  it 
must  be,  I'll  swear  it's  there." 

"  Miss  Manette,  then !  " 

"  Miss  Manette,  then !  " 

Looking  his  companion  full  in  his  face  while  he  drank 
the  toast,  Carton  flung  his  glass  over  his  shoulder  against 
the  wall,  where  it  shivered  to  pieces ;  then,  rang  the  bell, 
and  ordered  in  another. 

"That's  a  fair  young  lady  to  hand  to  a  coach  in  the  dark, 
Mr.  Darnay !  "  he  said,  filling  his  new  goblet. 


96  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

A  slight  frown  and  a  laconic  "  Yes, "  were  the  answer. 

"  That's  a  fair  young  lady  to  be  pitied  by  and  wept  for 
by!  How  does  it  feel?  Is  it  worth  being  tried  for  one's 
life,  to  be  the  object  of  such  sympathy  and  compassion, 
Mr.  Darnay?" 

Again  Darnay  answered  not  a  word. 

"  She  was  mightily  pleased  to  have  your  message,  when 
I  gave  it  her.  Not  that  she  showed  she  was  pleased,  but  I 
suppose  she  was." 

The  allusion  served  as  a  timely  reminder  to  Darnay  that 
this  disagreeable  companion  had,  of  his  own  free  will, 
assisted  him  in  the  strait  of  the  day.  He  turned  the  dia- 
logue to  that  point,  and  thanked  him  for  it. 

"I  neither  want  any  thanks,  nor  merit  any,"  was  the 
careless  rejoinder.  "It  was  nothing  to  do,  in  the  first 
place;  and  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it,  in  the  second.  Mr. 
Darnay,  let  me  ask  you  a  question." 

"Willingly,  and  a  small  return  for  your  good  offices." 

"Do  you  think  I  particularly  like  you?  " 

"Really,  Mr.  Carton,"  returned  the  other,  oddly  discon- 
certed, "I  have  not  asked  myself  the  question." 

"But  ask  yourself  the  question  now." 

"You  have  acted  as  if  you  do;  but  I  don't  think  you  do." 

"/don't  think  I  do,"  said  Carton.  "I  begin  to  have  a 
very  good  opinion  of  your  understanding." 

"Nevertheless,"  pursued  Darnay,  rising  to  ring  the  bell, 
"there  is  nothing  in  that,  I  hope,  to  prevent  my  calling  the 
reckoning,  and  our  parting  without  ill-blood  on  either  side." 

Carton  rejoining,  "Nothing  in  life !  "  Darnay  rang.  "  Do 
you  call  the  whole  reckoning? "  said  Carton.  On  his  an- 
swering in  the  affirmative,  "Then  bring  me  another  pint 
of  this  same  wine,  drawer,  and  come  and  wake  me  at  ten." 

The  bill  being  paid,  Charles  Darnay  rose  and  wished  him 
good  night.     Without  returning  the  wish,  Carton  rose  too 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  97 

with  something  of  a  threat  or  defiance  in  his  manner,  and 
said,  "A  last  word,  Mr.  Darnay:  you  think  I  am  drunk?" 

"I  think  you  have  been  drinking,  Mr.  Carton." 

"Think?     You  know  I  have  been  drinking." 

"Since  I  must  say  so,  I  know  it." 

"  Then  you  shall  likewise  know  why.  I  am  a  disappointed 
drudge,  sir.  I  care  for  no  man  on  earth,  and  no  man  on 
earth  cares  for  me." 

"  Much  to  be  regretted.  You  might  have  used  your  tal- 
ents better." 

"May  be  so,  Mr.  Darnay;  may  be  not.  Don't  let  your 
sober  face  elate  you,  however;  you  don't  know  what  it  may 
come  to.     Good  night!  " 

When  he  was  left  alone,  this  strange  being  took  up  a 
candle,  went  to  a  glass  that  hung  against  the  wall,  and  sur- 
veyed himself  minutely  in  it. 

"Do  you  particularly  like  the  man?"  he  muttered,  at  his 
own  image ;  "  why  should  you  particularly  like  a  man  who 
resembles  you?  There  is  nothing  in  you  to  like;  you 
know  that.  Ah,  confound  you!  What  a  change  you  have 
made  in  yourself!  A  good  reason  for  taking  to  a  man, 
that  he  shows  you  what  you  have  fallen  away  from,  and 
what  you  might  have  been!  Change  places  with  him,  and 
would  you  have  been  looked  at  by  those  blue  eyes  as  he 
was,  and  commiserated  by  that  agitated  face  as  he  was? 
Come  on,  and  have  it  out  in  plain  words!  You  hate  the 
fellow." 

He  resorted  to  his  pint  of  wine  for  consolation,  drank  it 
all  in  a  few  minutes,  and  fell  asleep  on  his  arms,  with  his 
hair  straggling  over  the  table,  and  a  long  winding-sheet  in 
the  candle  dripping  down  upon  him. 


98  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    JACKAL. 

Those  were  drinking  days,  and  most  men  drank  hard. 
So  very  great  is  the  improvement  Time  has  brought  about 
in  such  habits,  that  a  moderate  statement  of  the  quantity 
of  wine  and  punch  which  one  man  would  swallow  in  the 
course  of  a  night,  without  any  detriment  to  his  reputation 
as  a  perfect  gentleman,  would  seem,  in  these  days,  a  ridic- 
ulous exaggeration.  The  learned  profession  of  the  Law 
was  certainly  not  behind  any  other  learned  profession  in  its 
Bacchanalian  propensities ;  neither  was  Mr.  Stry  ver,  already 
fast  shouldering  his  way  to  a  large  and  lucrative  practice, 
behind  his  compeers  in  this  particular,  any  more  than  in 
the  drier  parts  of  the  legal  race. 

A  favourite  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and  eke  at  the  Sessions, 
Mr.  Stryver  had  begun  cautiously  to  hew  away  the  lower 
staves  of  the  ladder  on  which  he  mounted.  Sessions  and 
Old  Bailey  had  now  to  summon  their  favourite,  specially, 
to  their  longing  arms ;  and  shouldering  itself  towards  the 
visage  of  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  in  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench,  the  florid  countenance  of  Mr.  Stryver  might  be  daily 
seen,  bursting  out  of  the  bed  of  wigs,  like  a  great  sunflower 
pushing  its  way  at  the  sun  from  among  a  rank  garden-full 
of  flaring  companions. 

It  had  once  been  noted  at  the  Bar,  that  while  Mr.  Stryver 
was  a  glib  man,  and  an  unscrupulous,  and  a  ready,  and  a 
bold,  he  had  not  that  faculty  of  extracting  the  essence  from 
a  heap  of  statements,  which  is  among  the  most  striking  and 
necessary  of  the  advocate's  accomplishments.  But,  a  re- 
markable improvement  came  upon  him  as  to  this.     The 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  99 

more  business  he  got,  the  greater  his  power  seemed  to  grow 
of  getting  at  its  pith  and  marrow;  and  however  late  at 
night  he  sat  carousing  with  Sydney  Carton,  he  always  had 
his  points  at  his  fingers'  ends  in  the  morning. 

Sydney  Carton,  idlest  and  most  unpromising  of  men,  was 
Stryver's  great  ally.  What  the  two  drank  together,  be- 
tween Hilary  Term  and  Michaelmas,  might  have  floated  a 
king's  ship.  Stryver  never  had  a  case  in  hand,  anywhere, 
but  Carton  was  there,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  staring 
at  the  ceiling  of  the  court;  they  went  the  same  Circuit,  and 
even  there  they  prolonged  their  usual  orgies  late  into  the 
night,  and  Carton  was  rumoured  to  be  seen  at  broad  day, 
going  home  stealthily  and  unsteadily  to  his  lodgings,  like 
a  dissipated  cat.  At  last,  it  began  to  get  about,  among 
such  as  were  interested  in  the  matter,  that  although  Sydney 
Carton  would  never  be  a  lion,  he  was  an  amazingly  good 
jackal,  and  that  he  rendered  suit  and  service  to  Stryver  in 
that  humble  capacity. 

"Ten  o'clock,  sir,"  said  the  man  at  the  tavern,  whom  he" 
had  charged  to  wake  him  —  "ten  o'clock,  sir." 
"  What's  the  matter?  " 
"Ten  o'clock,  sir." 

"What  do  you  mean?     Ten  o'clock  at  night?" 
"Yes,  sir.     Your  honour  told  me  to  call  you." 
"Oh!  I  remember.     Very  well,  very  well." 
After  a  few  dull  efforts  to  get  to  sleep  again,  which  the 
man  dexterously  combated  by  stirring  the  fire  continuously 
for  five  minutes,  he  got  up,  tossed  his  hat  on,  and  walked 
out.     He  turned  into  the  Temple,  and,  having  revived  him- 
self by  twice  pacing  the  pavements  of  King's-Bench  walk 
and  Paper-buildings,  turned  into  the  Stryver  chambers. 

The  Stryver  clerk,  who  never  assisted  at  these  confer- 
ences, had  gone  home,  and  the  Stryver  principal  opened 
the  door.     He  had  his  slippers  on,  and  a  loose  bedgown, 


100  A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES. 

and  his  throat  was  bare  for  his  greater  ease.  He  had  that 
rather  wild,  strained,  seared  marking  about  the  eyes,  which 
may  be  observed  in  all  free  livers  of  his  class,  from  the 
portrait  of  Jeffries  downward,  and  which  can  be  traced, 
under  various  disguises  of  Art,  through  the  portraits  of 
every  Drinking  Age. 

"  You  are  a  little  late,  Memory, "  said  Stry ver. 

"  About  the  usual  time ;  it  may  be  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later." 

They  went  into  a  dingy  room  lined  with  books  and  lit- 
tered with  papers,  where  there  was  a  blazing  fire.  A  kettle 
steamed  upon  the  hob,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  wreck  of 
papers  a  table  shone,  with  plenty  of  wine  upon  it,  and 
brandy,  and  rum,  and  sugar,  and  lemons. 

"You  have  had  your  bottle,  I  perceive,  Sydney." 

"Two  to-night,  I  think.  I  have  been  dining  with  the 
day's  client;  or  seeing  him  dine  —  it's  all  one!  " 

"That  was  a  rare  point,  Sydney,  that  you  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  identification.  How  did  you  come  by  it? 
When  did  it  strike  you?  " 

"  I  thought  he  was  rather  a  handsome  fellow,  and  I  thought 
I  should  have  been  much  the  same  sort  of  fellow,  if  I  had 
had  any  luck." 

Mr.  Stryver  laughed,  till  he  shook  his  precocious  paunch. 
"You  and  your  luck,  Sydney!     Get  to  work,  get  to  work." 

Sullenly  enough,  the  jackal  loosened  his  dress,  went  into 
an  adjoining  room,  and  came  back  with  a  large  jug  of  cold 
water,  a  basin,  and  a  towel  or  two.  Steeping  the  towels  in 
the  water,  and  partially  ringing  them  out,  he  folded  them  on 
his  head  in  a  manner  hideous  to  behold,  sat  down  at  the 
table,  and  said,  "  Now  I  am  ready !  " 

"  Not  much  boiling  down  to  be  done  to-night,  Memory, " 
said  Mr.  Stryver,  gaily,  as  he  looked  among  his  papers. 

"How  much?" 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   giTIJES*  101 


"  Only  two  sets  of  them." 

"  Give  me  the  worst  first." 

"  There  they  are,  Sydney.     Fire  away !  " 

The  lion  then  composed  himself  on  his  back  on  a  sofa  on 
one  side  of  the  drinking-table,  while  the  jackal  sat  at  his 
own  paper-bestrewn  table  proper,  on  the  other  side  of  it, 
with  the  bottles  and  glasses  ready  to  his  hand.  Both 
resorted  to  the  drinking-table  without  stint,  but  each  in  a 
different  way ;  the  lion  for  the  most  part  reclining  with  his 
hands  in  his  waistband,  looking  at  the  fire,  or  occasionally 
flirting  with  some  lighter  document;  the  jackal,  with 
knitted  brows  and  intent  face,  so  deep  in  his  task,  that  his 
eyes  did  not  even  follow  the  hand  he  stretched  out  for  his 
glass  —  which  often  groped  about,  for  a  minute  or  more, 
before  it  found  the  glass  for  his  lips.  Two  or  three  times, 
the  matter  in  hand  became  so  knotty,  that  the  jackal  found 
it  imperative  on  him  to  get  up,  and  steep  his  towels  anew. 
From  these  pilgrimages  to  the  jug  and  basin,  he  returned 
with  such  eccentricities  of  damp  head-gear  as  no  words  can 
describe;  which  were  made  the  more  ludicrous  by  his  anx- 
ious gravity. 

At  length  the  jackal  had  got  together  a  compact  repast 
for  the  lion,  and  proceeded  to  offer  it  to  him.  The  lion 
took  it  with  care  and  caution,  made  his  selections  from  it, 
and  his  remarks  upon  it,  and  the  jackal  assisted  both. 
When  the  repast  was  fully  discussed,  the  lion  put  his  hands 
in  his  waistband  again,  and  lay  down  to  meditate.  The 
jackal  then  invigorated  himself  with  a  bumper  for  his 
throttle,  and  a  fresh  application  to  his  head,  and  applied 
himself  to  the  collection  of  a  second  meal;  this  was  admin- 
istered to  the  lion  in  the  same  manner,  and  was  not  disposed 
of  until  the  clocks  struck  three  in  the  morning. 

"And  now  we  have  done,  Sydney,  fill  a  bumper  of 
punch,"  said  Mr.  Stryver. 


102  A  s  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

The  jackal  renioyecl  toe  towels  from  his  head,  which  had 
been  steaming  again,  shook  himself,  yawned,  shivered, 
and  complied. 

"You  were  very  sound,  Sydney,  in  the  matter  of  those 
crown  witnesses  to-day.     Every  question  told." 

"I  always  am  sound;  am  I  not?" 

"I  don't  gainsay  it.  What  has  roughened  your  temper? 
Put  some  punch  to  it  and  smooth  it  again." 

With  a  deprecatory  grunt,  the  jackal  again  complied. 

"The  old  Sydney  Carton  of  old  Shrewsbury  School,"  said 
Stryver,  nodding  his  head  over  him  as  he  reviewed  him  in 
the  present  and  the  past,  "the  old  seesaw  Sydney.  Up 
one  minute  and  down  the  next;  now  in  spirits  and  now  in 
despondency! " 

"Ah!"  returned  the  other,  sighing:  "yes!  The  same 
Sydney,  with  the  same  luck.  Even  then,  I  did  exercises 
for  other  boys,  and  seldom  did  my  own." 

"And  why  not?" 

"God  knows.     It  was  my  way,  I  suppose." 

He  sat,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  legs 
stretched  out  before  him,  looking  at  the  fire. 

"Carton,"  said  his  friend,  squaring  himself  at  him  with 
a  bullying  air,  as  if  the  fire-grate  had  been  the  furnace  in 
which  sustained  endeavour  was  forged,  and  the  one  delicate 
thing  to  be  done  for  the  old  Sydney  Carton  of  old  Shrews- 
bury School  was  to  shoulder  him  into  it,  "  your  way  is,  and 
always  was,  a  lame  way.  You  summon  no  energy  and  pur- 
pose.    Look  at  me." 

"  Oh,  botheration !  "  returned  Sydney,  with  a  lighter  and 
more  good-humoured  laugh,  "don't  you  be  moral! ' 

"How  have  I  done  what  I  have  done?"  said  Stryver; 
"how  do  I  do  what  I  do?" 

"Partly  through  paying  me  to  help  you,  I  suppose.  But 
it's  not  worth  your  while  to  apostrophise  me,  or  the  air, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  103 

about  it;  what  you  want  to  do,  you  do.  You  were  always 
in  the  front  rank,  and  I  was  always  behind." 

"  I  had  to  get  into  the  front  rank ;  I  was  not  born  there, 
was  I?" 

"  I  was  not  present  at  the  ceremony ;  but  my  opinion  is 
you  were,"  said  Carton.  At  this,  he  laughed  again,  and 
they  both  laughed. 

"Before  Shrewsbury,  and  at  Shrewsbury,  and  ever  since 
Shrewsbury,"  pursued  Carton,  "you  have  fallen  into  your 
rank,  and  I  have  fallen  into  mine.  Even  when  we  were 
fellow-students  in  the  Student-Quarter  of  Paris,  picking  up 
French,  and  French  law,  and  other  French  crumbs  that  we 
didn't  get  much  good  of,  you  were  always  somewhere,  and 
I  was  always  —  nowhere." 

"And  whose  fault  was  that?" 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  am  not  sure  that  it  was  not  yours. 
You  were  always  driving  and  riving  and  shouldering  and 
pressing,  to  that  restless  degree  that  I  had  no  chance  for 
my  life  but  in  rust  and  repose.  It's  a  gloomy  thing,  how- 
ever, to  talk  about  one's  own  past,  with  the  day  breaking. 
Turn  me  in  some  other  direction  before  I  go." 

"Well  then!  Pledge  me  to  the  pretty  witness,"  said 
Stryver,  holding  up  his  glass.  "'Are  you  turned  in  a 
pleasant  direction?" 

Apparently  not,  for  he  became  gloomy  again. 

"Pretty  witness,"  he  muttered,  looking  down  into  his 
glass.  "I  have  had  enough  of  witnesses  to-day  and  to- 
night; who's  your  pretty  witness?" 

"The  picturesque  doctor's  daughter,  Miss  Manette." 

"She  pretty!" 

"Is  she  not?" 

"No." 

"Why,  man  alive,  she  was  the  admiration  of  the  whole 

Court!" 

v 


104  A   TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

"Bot  the  admiration  of  the  whole  Court!  Who  made 
the  Old  Bailey  a  judge  of  beauty?  She  was  a  golden-haired 
doll?" 

"Do  you  know,  Sydney,"  said  Mr.  Stryver,  looking  at 
him  with  sharp  eyes,  and  slowly  drawing  a  hand  across  his 
florid  face :  "  do  you  know,  I  rather  thought,  at  the  time, 
that  you  sympathised  with  the  golden-haired  doll,  and  were 
quick  to  see  what  happened  to  the  golden-haired  doll?" 

"  Quick  to  see  what  happened !  If  a  girl,  doll  or  no  doll, 
swoons  within  a  yard  or  two  of  a  man's  nose,  he  can  see  it 
without  a  perspective-glass.  I  pledge  you,  but  I  deny  the 
beauty.  And  now  I'll  have  no  more  drink;  I'll  get  to 
bed." 

When  his  host  followed  him  out  on  the  staircase  with  a 
candle,  to  light  him  down  the  stairs,  the  day  was  coldly 
looking  in  through  its  grimy  windows.  When  he  got  out 
of  the  house,  the  air  was  cold  and  sad,  the  dull  sky  over- 
cast, the  river  dark  and  dim,  the  whole  scene  like  a  life- 
less desert.  And  wreaths  of  dust  were  spinning  round  and 
round  before  the  morning  blast,  as  if  the  desert-sand  had 
risen  far  away,  and  the  first  spray  of  it  in  its  advance  had 
begun  to  overwhelm  the  city. 

Waste  forces  within  him,  and  a  desert  all  around,  this 
man  stood  still  on  his  way  across  a  silent  terrace,  and  saw 
for  a  moment,  lying  in  the  wilderness  before  him,  a  mirage 
of  honourable  ambition,  self-denial,  and  perseverance.  In 
the  fair  city  of  this  vision,  there  were  airy  galleries  from 
which  the  loves  and  graces  looked  upon  him,  gardens  in 
which  the  fruits  of  life  hung  ripening,  waters  of  Hope  that 
sparkled  in  his  sight.  A  moment,  and  it  was  gone.  Climb- 
ing to  a  high  chamber  in  a  well  of  houses,  he  threw  himself 
down  in  his  clothes  on  a  neglected  bed,  and  its  pillow  was 
wet  with  wasted  tears. 

Sadly,  sadly,  the  sun  rose ;  it  rose  upon  no  sadder  sight 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  105 

than  the  man  of  good  abilities  and  good  emotions,  incapa- 
ble of  their  directed  exercise,  incapable  of  his  own  help  and 
his  own  happiness,  sensible  of  the  blight  on  him,  and 
resigning  himself  to  let  it  eat  him  away. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HUNDREDS    OF    PEOPLE. 


The  quiet  lodgings  of  Doctor  Manette  were  in  a  quiet 
street-corner  not  far  from  Soho-square.  On  the  afternoon 
of  a  certain  fine  Sunday  when  the  waves  of  four  months  had 
rolled  over  the  trial  for  treason,  and  carried  it,  as  to  the 
public  interest  and  memory,  far  out  to  sea,  Mr.  Jarvis 
Lorry  walked  along  the  sunny  streets  from  Clerkenwell 
where  he  lived,  on  his  way  to  dine  with  the  Doctor.  After 
several  relapses  into  business-absorption,  Mr.  Lorry  had 
become  the  Doctor's  friend,  and  the  quiet  street-corner  was 
the  sunny  part  of  his  life. 

On  this  certain  fine  Sunday,  Mr.  Lorry  walked  towards 
Soho,  early  in  the  afternoon,  for  three  reasons  of  habit. 
Firstly,  because,  on  fine  Sundays,  he  often  walked  out,  be- 
fore dinner,  with  the  Doctor  and  Lucie;  secondly,  because, 
on  unfavourable  Sundays,  he  was  accustomed  to  be  with 
them  as  the  family  friend,  talking,  reading,  looking  out  of 
window,  and  generally  getting  through  the  day;  thirdly, 
because  he  happened  to  have  his  own  little  shrewd  doubts 
to  solve,  and  knew  how  the  ways  of  the  Doctor's  household 
pointed  to  that  time  as  a  likely  time  for  solving  them. 

A  quainter  corner  than  the  corner  where  the  Doctor  lived, 
was  not  to  be  found  in  London.  There  was  no  way  through 
it,  and  the  front  windows  of  the  Doctor's  lodgings  com- 
manded a  pleasant  little  vista  of  street  that  had  a  congenial 


106  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

air  of  retirement  on  it.  There  were  few  buildings  then, 
north  of  the  Oxford-road,  and  forest-trees  flourished,  and 
wild  flowers  grew,  and  the  hawthorn  blossomed,  in  the  now 
vanished  fields.  As  a  consequence,  country  airs  circulated 
in  Soho  with  vigorous  freedom,  instead  of  languishing  into 
the  parish  like  stray  paupers  without  a  settlement;  and 
there  was  many  a  good  south  wall,  not  far  off,  on  which  the 
peaches  ripened  in  their  season. 

The  summer  light  struck  into  the  corner  brilliantly  in 
the  earlier  part  of  the  day ;  but,  when  the  streets  grew  hot, 
the  corner  was  in  shadow,  though  not  in  shadow  so  remote 
but  that  you  could  see  beyond  it  into  a  glare  of  brightness. 
It  was  a  cool  spot,  staid  but  cheerful,  a  wonderful  place  for 
echoes,  and  a  very  harbour  from  the  raging  streets. 

There  ought  to  have  been  a  tranquil  bark  in  such  an 
anchorage,  and  there  was.  The  Doctor  occupied  two  floors 
of  a  large  still  house,  where  several  callings  purported  to  be 
pursued  by  day,  but  whereof  little  was  audible  any  day, 
and  which  was  shunned  by  all  of  them  at  night.  In  a 
building  at  the  back,  attainable  by  a  court-yard  where  a 
plane-tree  rustled  its  green  leaves,  church-organs  claimed 
to  be  made,  and  silver  to  be  chased,  and  likewise  gold  to  be 
beaten  by  some  mysterious  giant  who  had  a  golden  arm 
starting  out  of  the  wall  of  the  front  hall  —  as  if  had  beaten 
himself  precious,  and  menaced  a  similar  conversion  of  all 
visitors.  Very  little  of  these  trades,  or  of  a  lonely  lodger 
rumoured  to  live  up-stairs,  or  of  a  dim  coach-trimming 
maker  asserted  to  have  a  counting-house  below,  was  ever 
heard  or  seen.  Occasionally,  a  stray  workman  putting  his 
coat  on,  traversed  the  hall,  or  a  stranger  peered  about  there, 
or  a  distant  clink  was  heard  across  the  court-yard,  or  a 
thump  from  the  golden  giant.  These,  however,  were  only 
the  exceptions  required  to  prove  the  rule  that  the  sparrows 
in  the  plane-tree  behind  the  house,  and  the  echoes  in  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  107 

corner  before  it,  had  their  own  way  from  Sunday  morning 
unto  Saturday  night. 

Doctor  Manette  received  such  patients  here  as  his  old 
reputation,  and  its  revival  in  the  floating  whispers  of  his 
story,  brought  him.  His  scientific  knowledge,  and  his  vigi- 
lance and  skill  in  conducting  ingenious  experiments,  brought 
him  otherwise  into  moderate  request,  and  he  earned  as 
much  as  he  wanted. 

These  things  were  within  Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry's  knowledge, 
thoughts,  and  notice,  when  he  rang  the  door-bell  of  the 
tranquil  house  in  the  corner,  on  the  fine  Sunday  afternoon. 

"Doctor  Manette  at  home?" 

Expected  home. 

"Miss  Lucie  at  home?" 

Expected  home. 

"Miss  Pross  at  home?" 

Possibly  at  home,  but  of  a  certainty  impossible  for  hand- 
maid to  anticipate  intentions  of  Miss  Pross,  as  to  admission 
or  denial  of  the  fact. 

"As  I  am  at  home  myself,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "I'll  go  up- 
stairs." 

Although  the  Doctor's  daughter  had  known  nothing  of 
the  country  of  her  birth,  she  appeared  to  have  innately 
derived  from  it  that  ability  to  make  much  of  little  means, 
which  is  one  of  its  most  useful  and  most  agreeable  charac- 
teristics. Simple  as  the  furniture  was,  it  was  set  off  by  so 
many  little  adornments,  of  no  value  but  for  their  taste  and 
fancy,  that  its  effect  was  delightful.  The  disposition  of 
everything  in  the  rooms,  from  the  largest  object  to  the 
least;  the  arrangement  of  colours,  the  elegant  variety  and 
contrast  obtained  by  thrift  in  trifles,  by  delicate  hands, 
clear  eyes,  and  good  sense;  were  at  once  so  pleasant  in 
themselves,  and  so  expressive  of  their  originator,  that,  as 
Mr.  Lorry  stood  looking  about  him,  the  very  chairs  and 


108  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

tables  seemed  to  ask  him,  with  something  of  that  peculiar 
expression  which  he  knew  so  well  by  this  time,  whether  he 
approved? 

There  were  three  rooms  on  a  floor,  and,  the  doors  by 
which  they  communicated  being  pnt  open  that  the  air 
might  pass  freely  through  them  all,  Mr.  Lorry,  smilingly 
observant  of  that  fanciful  resemblance  which  he  detected 
all  around  him,  walked  from  one  to  another.  The  first  was 
the  best  room,  and  in  it  were  Lucie's  birds,  and  flowers, 
and  books,  and  desk,  and  work-table,  and  box  of  water- 
colours;  the  second  was  the  Doctor's  consulting-room,  used 
also  as  the  dining-room;  the  third,  changingly  speckled  by 
the  rustle  of  the  plane-tree  in  the  yard,  was  the  Doctor's 
bedroom,  and  there,  in  a  corner,  stood  the  disused  shoe- 
maker's bench  and  tray  of  tools,  much  as  it  had  stood  on 
the  fifth  floor  of  the  dismal  house  by  the  wine-shop,  in  the 
suburb  of  Saint  Antoine  in  Paris. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  pausing  in  his  looking  about, 
"that  he  keeps  that  reminder  of  his  sufferings  by  him! " 

"And  why  wonder  at  that?  "  was  the  abrupt  inquiry  that 
made  him  start. 

It  proceeded  from  Miss  Pross,  the  wild  red  woman,  strong 
of  hand,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  first  made  at  the  Royal 
George  Hotel  at  Dover,  and  had  since  improved. 

"  I  should  have  thought "  Mr.  Lorry  began. 

"Pooh!  You'd  have  thought!"  said  Miss  Pross;  and 
Mr.  Lorry  left  off. 

"How  do  you  do?"  inquired  that  lady  then  —  sharply, 
and  yet  as  if  to  express  that  she  bore  him  no  malice. 

"I  am  pretty  well,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Lorry, 
with  meekness,  "how  are  you?" 

"Nothing  to  boast  of,"  said  Mis?  Pross. 

"Indeed?" 

"Ah!  indeed!  "  said  Miss  Pross.  "I  am  very  much  put 
out  about  my  Ladybird." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  109 

"Indeed?" 

"For  gracious  sake  say  something  else  besides  'indeed/ 
or  you'll  fidget  me  to  death,"  said  Miss  Pross:  whose  char- 
acter (dissociated  from  stature)  was  shortness. 

"Beally,  then?"  said  Mr.  Lorry  as  an  amendment. 

"Really,  is  bad  enough,"  returned  Miss  Pross,  "but 
better.     Yes,  I  am  very  much  put  out." 

"May  I  ask  the  cause?" 

"  I  don't  want  dozens  of  people  who  are  not  at  all  worthy 
of  Ladybird,  to  come  here  looking  after  her,"  said  Miss 
Pross. 

"Do  dozens  come  for  that  purpose?" 

"Hundreds,"  said  Miss  Pross. 

It  was  characteristic  of  this  lady  (as  of  some  other  people 
before  her  time  and  since)  that  whenever  her  original  prop- 
osition was  questioned,  she  exaggerated  it. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Mr.  Lorry,  as  the  safest  remark  he 
could  think  of. 

"  I  have  lived  with  the  darling  —  or  the  darling  has  lived 
with  mc,  and  paid  me  for  it;  which  she  certainly  should 
never  have  done,  you  may  take  your  affidavit,  if  I  could 
have  afforded  to  keep  either  myself  or  her  for  nothing  — 
since  she  was  ten  years  old.  And  it's  really  very  hard," 
said  Miss  Pross. 

Not  seeing  with  precision  what  was  very  hard,  Mr.  Lorry 
shook  his  head;  using  that  important  part  of  himself  as  a 
sort  of  fairy  cloak  that  would  fit  anything. 

"All  sorts  of  people  who  are  not  in  the  least  degree 
worthy  of  the  pet,  are  always  turning  up,"  said  Miss 
Pross.     "When  you  began  it " 

"1  began  it,  Miss  Pross?" 

" Didn't  you?    Who  brought  her  father  to  life?  " 

"  Oh!     If  that  was  beginning  it "  said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"It  wasn't  ending  it,  I  suppose?     I  say,  when  you  began 


110  A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES. 

it,  it  was  hard  enough;  not  that  I  have  any  fault  to  find 
with  Doctor  Manette,  except  that  he  is  not  worthy  of  such 
a  daughter,  which  is  no  imputation  on  him,  for  it  was  not 
to  be  expected  that  anybody  should  be,  under  any  circum- 
stances. But  it  really  is  doubly  and  trebly  hard  to  have 
crowds  and  multitudes  of  people  turning  up  after  him  (I 
could  have  forgiven  him),  to  take  Ladybird's  affections 
away  from  me." 

Mr.  Lorry  knew  Miss  Pross  to  be  very  jealous,  but  he  also 
knew  her  by  this  time  to  be,  beneath  the  surface  of  her 
eccentricity,  one  of  those  unselfish  creatures  —  found  only 
among  women  —  who  will,  for  pure  love  and  admiration, 
bind  themselves  willing  slaves,  to  youth  when  they  have 
lost  it,  to  beauty  that  they  never  had,  to  accomplishments 
that  they  were  never  fortunate  enough  to  gain,  to  bright 
hopes  that  never  shone  upon  their  own  sombre  lives.  He 
knew  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  there  is  nothing  in 
it  better  than  the  faithful  service  of  the  heart ;  so  rendered 
and  so  free  from  any  mercenary  taint,  he  had  such  an  exalted 
respect  for  it,  that,  in  the  retributive  arrangements  made 
by  his  own  mind  —  we  all  make  such  arrangements,  more 
or  less  —  he  stationed  Miss  Pross  much  nearer  to  the  lower 
Angels  than  many  ladies  immeasurably  better  got  up  both 
by  Nature  and  Art,  who  had  balances  at  Tellson's. 

"There  never  was,  nor  will  be,  but  one  man  worthy  of 
Ladybird,"  said  Miss  Pross;  "and  that  was  my  brother 
Solomon,  if  he  hadn't  made  a  mistake  in  life." 

Here  again:  Mr.  Lorry's  inquiries  into  Miss  Pross's 
personal  history,  had  established  the  fact  that  her  brother 
Solomon  was  a  heartless  scoundrel  who  had  stripped  her  of 
everything  she  possessed,  as  a  stake  to  speculate  with,  and 
had  abandoned  her  in  her  poverty  for  evermore,  with  no 
touch  of  compunction.  Miss  Pross's  fidelity  of  belief  in 
Solomon  (deducting  a  mere  trifle  for  this  slight  mistake) 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  Ill 

was  quite  a  serious  matter  with  Mr.  Lorry,  and  had  its 
weight  in  his  good  opinion  of  her. 

"  As  we  happen  to  be  alone  for  the  moment,  and  are  both 
people  of  business,"  he  said,  when  they  had  got  back  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  had  sat  down  there  in  friendly  relations, 
"  let  me  ask  you  —  does  the  Doctor,  in  talking  with  Lucie, 
never  refer  to  the  shoemaking  time,  yet?" 

"Never." 

"And  yet  keeps  that  bench  and  those  tools  beside 
him?" 

"  Ah !  "  returned  Miss  Pross,  shaking  her  head.  "  But  I 
don't  say  he  don't  refer  to  it  within  himself." 

"Do  you  believe  that  he  thinks  of  it  much?" 

"I  do,"  said  Miss  Pross. 

"  Do   you   imagine "  Mr.   Lorry  had  begun,   when 

Miss  Pross  took  him  up  short  with : 

"Never  imagine  anything.     Have  no  imagination  at  all." 

"  I  stand  corrected ;  do  you  suppose  —  you  go  so  far  as  to 
suppose,  sometimes?" 

"Now  and  then,"  said  Miss  Pross. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  Mr.  Lorry  went  on,  with  a  laughing 
twinkle  in  his  bright  eye,  as  it  looked  kindly  at  her,  "  that 
Doctor  Manette  has  any  theory  of  his  own,  preserved  through 
all  those  years,  relative  to  the  cause  of  his  being  so  op- 
pressed; perhaps,  even  to  the  name  of  his  oppressor?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  anything  about  it  but  what  Ladybird 
tells  me." 

"And  that  is ?" 

"That  she  thinks  he  has." 

"Now  don't  be  angry  at  my  asking  all  these  questions; 
because  I  am  a  mere  dull  man  of  business,  and  you  are  a 
woman  of  business." 

"Dull?"  Miss  Pross  inquired,  with  placidity. 

Rather  wishing  his  modest  adjective  away,  Mr.  Lorry 


112  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

replied,  "Xo,  no,  no.  Surely  not.  To  return  to  business: 
—  Is  it  not  remarkable  that  Doctor  Manette,  unquestionably 
innocent  of  any  crime  as  we  are  well  assured  he  is,  should 
never  touch  upon  that  question?  I  will  not  say  with  me, 
though  he  had  business  relations  with  me  many  years  ago 
and  we  are  now  intimate;  I  will  say  with  the  fair  daughter 
to  whom  he  is  so  devotedly  attached,  and  who  is  so  de- 
votedly attached  to  him?  Believe  me,  Miss  Pross,  I  don't 
approach  the  topic  with  you,  out  of  curiosity,  but  out  of 
zealous  interest." 

"Well!  To  the  best  of  my  understanding,  and  bad's  the 
best  you'll  tell  me,"  said  Miss  Pross,  softened  by  the  tone 
of  the  apology,  "he  is  afraid  of  the  whole  subject." 

"Afraid?" 

"  It's  plain  enough,  I  should  think,  why  he  may  be.  It's 
a  dreadful  remembrance.  Besides  that,  his  loss  of  himself 
grew  out  of  it.  Not  knowing  how  he  lost  himself,  or  how 
he  recovered  himself,  he  may  never  feel  certain  of  not  los- 
ing himself  again.  That  alone  wouldn't  make  the  subject 
pleasant,  I  should  think." 

It  was  a  profounder  remark  than  Mr.  Lorry  had  looked 
for.  "True,"  said  he,  "and  fearful  to  reflect  upon.  Yet, 
a  doubt  lurks  in  my  mind,  Miss  Pross,  whether  it  is  good 
for  Doctor  Manette  to  have  that  suppression  always  shut 
up  within  him.  Indeed,  it  is  this  doubt  and  the  uneasiness 
it  sometimes  causes  me  that  has  led  me  to  our  present 
confidence." 

"Can't  be  helped,"  said  Miss  Pross,  shaking  her  head. 
"Touch  that  string,  and  he  instantly  changes  for  the  worse. 
Better  leave  it  alone.  In  short,  must  leave  it  alone,  like  or 
no  like.  Sometimes,  he  gets  up  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
and  will  be  heard,  by  us  overhead  there,  walking  up  and 
down,  walking  up  and  down,  in  his  room.  Ladybird  has 
learnt  to  know  then,  that  his  mind  is  walking  up  and  down, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  113 

walking  up  and  down,  in  his  old  prison.  She  hurries  to 
him,  and  they  go  on  together,  walking  up  and  down,  walk- 
ing up  and  down,  until  he  is  composed.  But  he  never  says 
a  word  of  the  true  reason  of  his  restlessness,  to  her,  and 
she  finds  it  best  not  to  hint  at  it  to  him.  In  silence  they 
go  walking  up  and  down  together,  walking  up  and  down 
together,  till  her  love  and  company  have  brought  him  to 
himself." 

Notwithstanding  Miss  Pross's  denial  of  her  own  imagina- 
tion, there  was  a  perception  of  the  pain  of  being  monoto- 
nously haunted  by  one  sad  idea,  in  her  repetition  of  the 
phrase,  walking  up  and  down,  which  testified  to  her  pos- 
sessing such  a  thing. 

The  corner  has  been  mentioned  as  a  wonderful  corner  for 
echoes ;  it  had  begun  to  echo  so  resoundingly  to  the  tread  of 
coming  feet,  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  very  mention  of 
that  weary  pacing  to  and  fro  had  set  it  going. 

"  Here  they  are !  "  said  Miss  Pross,  rising  to  break  up  the 
conference;  "and  now  we  shall  have  hundreds  of  people 
pretty  soon ! " 

It  was  such  a  curious  corner  in  its  acoustical  properties, 
such  a  peculiar  Ear  of  a  place,  that  as  Mr.  Lorry  stood  at 
the  open  window,  looking  for  the  father  and  daughter  whose 
steps  he  heard,  he  fancied  they  would  never  approach.  Not 
only  would  the  echoes  die  away,  as  though  the  steps  had 
gone ;  but,  echoes  of  other  steps  that  never  came,  would  be 
heard  in  their  stead,  and  would  die  away  for  good  when  they 
seemed  close  at  hand.  However,  father  and  daughter  did 
at  last  appear,  and  Miss  Pross  was  ready  at  the  street  door 
to  receive  them. 

Miss  Pross  was  a  pleasant  sight,  albeit  wild,  and  red,  and 
grim,  taking  off  her  darling's  bonnet  when  she  came  up- 
stairs, and  touching  it  up  with  the  ends  of  her  handker- 
chief, and  blowing  the  dust  off  it,  and  folding  her  mantle 


114  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

ready  for  laying  by,  and  smoothing  her  rich  hair  with  as 
much  pride  as  she  could  possibly  have  taken  in  her  own  hair 
if  she  had  been  the  vainest  and  handsomest  of  women. 
Her  darling  was  a  pleasant  sight  too,  embracing  her  and 
thanking  her,  and  protesting  against  her  taking  so  much 
trouble  for  her  —  which  last  she  only  dared  to  do  playfully, 
or  Miss  Pross,  sorely  hurt,  would  have  retired  to  her  own 
chamber  and  cried.  The  Doctor  was  a  pleasant  sight  too, 
looking  on  at  them,  and  telling  Miss  Pross  how  she  spoilt 
Lucie,  in  accents  and  with  eyes  that  had  as  much  spoiling 
in  them  as  Miss  Pross  had,  and  would  have  had  more  if  it 
were  possible.  Mr.  Lorry  was  a  pleasant  sight  too,  beaming 
at  all  this  in  his  little  wig,  and  thanking  his  bachelor  stars 
for  having  lighted  him  in  his  declining  years  to  a  Home. 
But,  no  Hundreds  of  people  came  to  see  the  sights,  and  Mr. 
Lorry  looked  in  vain  for  the  fulfilment  of  Miss  Pross's 
prediction. 

Dinner-time,  and  still  no  Hundreds  of  people.  In  the 
arrangements  of  the  little  household,  Miss  Pross  took  charge 
of  the  lower  regions,  and  always  acquitted  herself  marvel- 
lously. Her  dinners,  of  a  very  modest  quality,  were  so 
well  cooked  and  so  well  served,  and  so  neat  in  their  con- 
trivances, half  English  and  half  French,  that  nothing  could 
be  better.  Miss  Pross's  friendship  being  of  the  thoroughly 
practical  kind,  she  had  ravaged  Soho  and  the  adjacent 
provinces,  in  search  of  impoverished  French,  who,  tempted 
by  shillings  and  half-crowns,  would  impart  culinary  mys- 
teries to  her.  From  these  decayed  sons  and  daughters  of 
Gaul,  she  had  acquired  such  wonderful  arts,  that  the  woman 
and  girl  who  formed  the  staff  of  domestics  regarded  her  as 
quite  a  Sorceress,  or  Cinderella's  Godmother:  who  would 
send  out  for  a  fowl,  a  rabbit,  a  vegetable  or  two  from  the 
garden,  and  change  them  into  anything  she  pleased. 

On  Sundays,  Miss  Pross  dined  at  the  Doctor's  table,  but 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  115 

on  other  days  persisted  in  taking  her  meals,  at  unknown 
periods,  either  in  the  lower  regions,  or  in  her  own  room  on 
the  second  floor  —  a  blue  chamber,  to  which  no  one  but  her 
Ladybird  ever  gained  admittance.  On  this  occasion  Miss 
Pross,  responding  to  Ladybird's  pleasant  face  and  pleasant 
efforts  to  please  her,  unbent  exceedingly ;  so  the  dinner  was 
very  pleasant,  too. 

It  was  an  oppressive  day,  and,  after  dinner,  Lucie  pro- 
posed that  the  wine  should  be  carried  out  under  the  plane- 
tree,  and  they  should  sit  there  in  the  air.  As  everything 
turned  upon  her  and  revolved  about  her,  they  went  out  under 
the  plane-tree,  and  she  carried  the  wine  down  for  the  special 
benefit  of  Mr.  Lorry.  She  had  installed  herself,  some  time 
before,  as  Mr.  Lorry's  cup-bearer;  and  while  they  sat  under 
the  plane-tree,  talking,  she  kept  his  glass  replenished. 
Mysterious  backs  and  ends  of  houses  peeped  at  them  as  they 
talked,  and  the  plane-tree  whispered  to  them  in  its  own  way 
above  their  heads. 

Still,  the  Hundreds  of  people  did  not  present  themselves. 
Mr.  Darnay  presented  himself  while  they  were  sitting  under 
the  plane-tree,  but  he  was  only  One. 

Doctor  Manette  received  him  kindly,  and  so  did  Lucie. 
But,  Miss  Pross  suddenly  became  afflicted  with  a  twitching 
in  the  head  and  body,  and  retired  into  the  house.  She  was 
not  unfrequently  the  victim  of  this  disorder,  and  she  called 
it,  in  familiar  conversation,  "a  fit  of  the  jerks." 

The  Doctor  was  in  his  best  condition,  and  looked  specially 
young.  The  resemblance  between  him  and  Lucie  was  very 
strong  at  such  times,  and,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  she  lean- 
ing on  his  shoulder,  and  he  resting  his  arm  on  the  back  of 
her  chair,  it  was  very  agreeable  to  trace  the  likeness. 

He  had  been  talking  all  day,  on  many  subjects  and  with 
unusual  vivacity.  "Pray,  Doctor  Manette,"  said  Mr. 
Darnay,  as  they  sat  under  the  plane-tree  —  and  he  said  it  in 


116  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

the  natural  pursuit  of  the  topic  in  hand,  which  happened 
to  be  the  old  buildings  of  London  —  "  have  you  seen  much 
of  the  Tower?" 

"Lucie  and  I  have  been  there;  but  only  casually.  We 
have  seen  enough  of  it,  to  know  that  it  teems  with  interest; 
little  more." 

"  i"  have  been  there,  as  you  remember, "  said  Darnay,  with 
a  smile,  though  reddening  a  little  angrily,  "  in  another  char- 
acter, and  not  in  a  character  that  gives  facilities  for  seeing 
much  of  it.  They  told  me  a  curious  thing  when  I  was 
there." 

"  What  was  that?  "  Lucie  asked. 

"  In  making  some  alterations,  the  workmen  came  upon  an 
old  dungeon,  which  had  been,  for  many  years,  built  up  and 
forgotten.  Every  stone  of  its  inner  wall  was  covered  with 
inscriptions  which  had  been  carved  by  prisoners  —  dates, 
names,  complaints,  and  prayers.  Upon  a  corner  stone  in 
an  angle  of  the  wall,  one  prisoner,  who  seemed  to  have  gone 
to  execution,  had  cut,  as  his  last  work,  three  letters.  They 
were  done  with  some  very  poor  instrument,  and  hurriedly, 
with  an  unsteady  hand.  At  first,  they  were  read  as  D.  I.  C. ; 
but,  on  being  more  carefully  examined,  the  last  letter  was 
found  to  be  G.  There  was  no  record  or  legend  of  any  pris- 
oner with  those  initials,  and  many  fruitless  guesses  were 
made  what  the  name  could  have  been.  At  length,  it  was 
suggested  that  the  letters  were  not  initials,  but  the  complete 
word,  Dig.  The  floor  was  examined  very  carefully  under 
the  inscription,  and,  in  the  earth  beneath  a  stone,  or  tile, 
or  some  fragment  of  paving,  were  found  the  ashes  of  a 
paper,  mingled  with  the  ashes  of  a  small  leathern  case  or 
bag.  What  the  unknown  prisoner  had  written  will  never 
be  read,  but  he  had  written  something,  and  hidden  it  away 
to  keep  it  from  the  gaoler." 

"  My  father !  "  exclaimed  Lucie,  "  you  are  ill !  " 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  117 

He  had  suddenly  started  up,  with  his  hand  to  his  head. 
His  manner  and  his  look  quite  terrified  them  all. 

"No,  my  dear,  not  ill.  There  are  large  drops  of  rain 
falling,  and  they  made  me  start.     We  had  better  go  in." 

He  recovered  himself  almost  instantly.  Rain  was  really 
falling  in  large  drops,  and  he  showed  the  back  of  his  hand 
with  rain-drops  on  it.  But,  he  said  not  a  single  word  in 
reference  to  the  discovery  that  had  been  told  of,  and,  as 
they  went  into  the  house,  the  business  eye  of  Mr.  Lorry 
either  detected,  or  fancied  it  detected,  on  his  face,  as  it 
turned  towards  Charles  Darnay,  the  same  singular  look  that 
had  been  upon  it  when  it  turned  towards  him  in  the  passages 
of  the  Court  House. 

He  recovered  himself  so  quickly,  however,  that  Mr.  Lorry 
had  doubts  of  his  business  eye.  The  arm  of  the  golden 
giant  in  the  hall  was  not  more  steady  than  he  was,  when  he 
stopped  under  it  to  remark  to  them  that  he  was  not  yet 
proof  against  slight  surprises  (if  he  ever  would  be),  and 
that  the  rain  had  startled  him. 

Tea-time,  and  Miss  Pross  making  tea,  with  another  fit  of 
the  jerks  upon  her,  and  yet  no  Hundreds  of  people.  Mr. 
Carton  had  lounged  in,  but  he  made  only  Two. 

The  night  was  so  very  sultry,  that  although  they  sat  with 
doors  and  windows  open,  they  were  overpowered  by  heat. 
When  the  tea-table  was  done  with,  they  all  moved  to  one 
of  the  windows,  and  looked  out  into  the  heavy  twilight. 
Lucie  sat  by  her  father;  Darnay  sat  beside  her;  Carton 
leaned  against  a  window.  The  curtains  were  long  and 
white,  and  some  of  the  thunder-gusts  that  whirled  into  the 
corner,  caught  them  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  waved  them  like 
spectral  wings. 

"The  rain-drops  are  still  falling,  large,  heavy,  and  few/' 
said  Doctor  Manette.     "It  comes  slowly." 

"It  comes  surely,"  said  Carton. 


118  A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES. 

They  spoke  low,  as  people  watching  arid  waiting  mostly 
do;  as  people  in  a  dark  room,  watching  and  waiting  for 
Lightning,  always  do. 

There  was  a  great  hurry  in  the  streets,  of  people  speeding 
away  to  get  shelter  before  the  storm  broke ;  the  wonderful 
corner  for  echoes  resounded  with  the  echoes  of  footsteps 
coming  and  going,  yet  not  a  footstep  was  there. 

"  A  multitude  of  people,  and  yet  a  solitude !  "  said  Darnay 
when  they  had  listened  for  a  while. 

"Is  it  not  impressive,  Mr.  Darnay?"  asked  Lucie. 
"Sometimes,  I  have  sat  here  of  an  evening,  until  I  have 
fancied  —  but  even  the  shade  of  a  foolish  fancy  makes  me 
shudder  to-night,  when  all  is  so  black  and  solemn " 

"Let  us  shudder  too.     We  may  know  what  it  is?" 

"It  will  seem  nothing  to  you.  Such  whims  are  only 
impressive  as  we  originate  them,  I  think;  they  are  not  to 
be  communicated.  I  have  sometimes  sat  alone  here  of  an 
evening,  listening,  until  I  have  made  the  echoes  out  to  be 
the  echoes  of  all  the  footsteps  that  are  coming  by-and-by  into 
our  lives." 

"There  is  a  great  crowd  coming  one  day  into  our  lives, 
if  that  be  so,"  Sydney  Carton  struck  in,  in  his  moody 
way. 

The  footsteps  were  incessant,  and  the  hurry  of  them 
became  more  and  more  rapid.  The  corner  echoed  and 
re-echoed  with  the  tread  of  feet;  some,  as  it  seemed,  under 
the  windows ;  some,  as  it  seemed,  in  the  room ;  some  com- 
ing, some  going,  some  breaking  off,  some  stopping  alto- 
gether; all  in  the  distant  streets,  and  not  one  within  sight. 

"Are  all  these  footsteps  destined  to  come  to  all  of  us, 
Miss  Manette,  or  are  we  to  divide  them  among  us?': 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Darnay ;  I  told  you  it  was  a  foolish 
fancy,  but  you  asked  for  it.  When  I  have  yielded  myself 
to  it,  I  have  been  alone,  and  then  I  have  imagined  them  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  119 

footsteps  of  the  people  who  are  to  come  into  my  life,  and 
my  father's." 

"I  take  them  into  mine!  "  said  Carton.  "J  ask  no  ques- 
tions and  make  no  stipulations.     There  is  a  great  crowd 

bearing  down  upon  us,  Miss  Manette,  and  I  see  them ! 

by  the  Lightning."  He  added  the  last  words,  after  there 
had  been  a  vivid  flash  which  had  shown  him  lounging  in 
the  window. 

"  And  I  hear  them ! "  he  added  again,  after  a  peal  of 
thunder.     "Here  they  come,  fast,  fierce,  and  furious!  " 

It  was  the  rush  and  roar  of  rain  that  he  typified,  and  it 
Stopped  him,  for  no  voice  could  be  heard  in  it.  A  memor- 
able storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  broke  with  that  sweep 
of  water,  and  there  was  not  a  moment's  interval  in  crash, 
and  fire,  and  rain,  until  after  the  moon  rose  at  midnight. 

The  great  bell  of  Saint  Paul's  was  striking  One  in  the 
cleared  air,  when  Mr.  Lorry,  escorted  by  Jerry,  high-booted 
and  bearing  a  lantern,  set  forth  on  his  return-passage  to 
Clerkenwell.  There  were  solitary  patches  of  road  on  the 
way  between  Soho  and  Clerkenwell,  and  Mr.  Lorry,  mindful 
of  footpads,  always  retained  Jerry  for  this  service :  though 
it  was  usually  performed  a  good  two  hours  earlier. 

"  What  a  night  it  has  been!  Almost  a  night,  Jerry,"  said 
Mr.  Lorry,  "to  bring  the  dead  out  of  their  graves." 

"  I  never  see  the  night  myself,  master  —  nor  yet  I  don't 
expect  to  it  —  what  would  do  that,"  answered  Jerry. 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Carton,"  said  the  man  of  business. 
"  Good  night,  Mr.  Darnay.  Shall  we  ever  see  such  a  night 
again,  together ! " 

Perhaps.  Perhaps,  see  the  great  crowd  of  people  with  its 
rush  and  roar,  bearing  down  upon  them,  too. 


120  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MONSEIGNEUR    IN    TOWN. 

Monseigneur,  one  of  the  great  lords  in  power  at  the 
Court,  held  his  fortnightly  reception  in  his  grand  hotel  in 
Paris.  Monseigneur  was  in  his  inner  room,  his  sanctuary 
of  sanctuaries,  the  Holiest  of  Holiests  to  the  crowd  of  wor- 
shippers in  the  suite  of  rooms  without.  Monseigneur  was 
about  to  take  his  chocolate.  Monseigneur  could  swallow  a 
great  many  things  with  ease,  and  was  by  some  few  sullen 
minds  supposed  to  be  rather  rapidly  swallowing  Prance; 
but,  his  morning's  chocolate  could  not  so  much  as  get  into 
the  throat  of  Monseigneur,  without  the  aid  of  four  strong 
men  besides  the  Cook. 

Yes.  It  took  four  men,  all  four  a-blaze  with  gorgeous 
decoration,  and  the  Chief  of  them  unable  to  exist  with  fewer 
than  two  gold  watches  in  his  pocket,  emulative  of  the  noble 
and  chaste  fashion  set  by  Monseigneur,  to  conduct  the 
happy  chocolate  to  Monseigneur's  lips.  One  lacquey  car- 
ried the  chocolate-pot  into  the  sacred  presence;  a  second 
milled  and  frothed  the  chocolate  with  the  little  instrument 
he  bore  for  that  function;  a  third  presented  the  favoured 
napkin;  a  fourth  (he  of  the  two  gold  watches)  poured  the 
chocolate  out.  It  was  impossible  for  Monseigneur  to  dis- 
pense with  one  of  these  attendants  on  the  chocolate  and 
hold  his  high  place  under  the  admiring  Heavens.  Deep 
would  have  been  the  blot  upon  his  escutcheon  if  his  choco- 
late had  been  ignobly  waited  on  by  only  three  men;  he 
must  have  died  of  two. 

Monseigneur  had  been  out  at  a  little  supper  last  night, 
where  the  Comedy  and  the  Grand  Opera  were  charmingly 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  121 

represented.  Monseigneur  was  out  at  a  little  supper  most 
nights,  with  fascinating  company.  So  polite  and  so  impres- 
sible was  Monseigneur,  that  the  Comedy  and  the  Grand 
Opera  had  far  more  influence  with  him  in  the  tiresome 
articles  of  state  affairs  and  state  secrets,  than  the  needs  of 
all  France.  A  happy  circumstance  for  France,  as  the  like 
always  is  for  all  countries  similarly  favoured!  —  always  was 
for  England  (by  way  of  example),  in  the  regretted  days  of 
the  merry  Stuart  who  sold  it. 

Monseigneur  had  one  truly  noble  idea  of  general  public 
business,  which  was,  to  let  everything  go  on  in  its  own 
way;  of  particular  public  business,  Monseigneur  had  the 
other  truly  noble  idea  that  it  must  all  go  his  way  —  tend  to 
his  own  power  and  pocket.  Of  his  pleasures,  general  and 
particular,  Monseigneur  had  the  other  truly  noble  idea,  that 
the  world  was  made  for  them.  The  text  of  his  order  (altered 
from  the  original  by  only  a  pronoun,  which  is  not  much) 
ran:  "The  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof  are  mine,  saith 
Monseigneur." 

Yet,  Monseigneur  had  slowly  found  that  vulgar  embar- 
rassments crept  into  his  affairs,  both  private  and  public; 
and  he  had,  as  to  both  classes  of  affairs,  allied  himself  per- 
force with  a  Farmer-General.  As  to  finances  public,  because 
Monseigneur  could  not  make  anything  at  all  of  them,  and 
must  consequently  let  them  out  to  somebody  who  could;  as 
to  finances  private,  because  Farmer-Generals  were  rich,  and 
Monseigneur,  after  generations  of  great  luxury  and  expense, 
was  growing  poor.  Hence,  Monseigneur  had  taken  his  sister 
from  a  convent,  while  there  was  yet  time  to  ward  off  the 
impending  veil,  the  cheapest  garment  she  could  wear,  and 
had  bestowed  her  as  a  prize  upon  a  very  rich  Farmer- 
General,  poor  in  family.  Which  Farmer-General,  carrying 
an  appropriate  cane  with  a  golden  apple  on  the  top  of  it, 
was  now  among  the  company  in  the  outer  rooms,  much 


122  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

prostrated  before  by  mankind  —  always  excepting  superior 
mankind  of  the  blood  of  Monseigneur,  who,  his  own  wife 
included,  looked  down  upon  him  with  the  loftiest  contempt. 

A  sumptuous  man  was  the  Farmer-General.  Thirty 
horses  stood  in  his  stables,  twenty-four  male  domestics  sat 
in  his  halls,  six  body-women  waited  on  his  wife.  As  one 
who  pretended  to  do  nothing  but  plunder  and  forage  where 
he  could,  the  Farmer-General  —  howsoever  his  matrimonial 
relations  conduced  to  social  morality  —  was  at  least  the 
greatest  reality  among  the  personages  who  attended  at  the 
hotel  of  Monseigneur  that  day. 

For,  the  rooms,  though  a  beautiful  scene  to  look  at,  and 
adorned  with  every  device  of  decoration  that  the  taste  and 
skill  of  the  time  could  achieve,  were,  in  truth,  not  a  sound 
business;  considered  with  any  reference  to  the  scarecrows 
in  the  rags  and  nightcaps  elsewhere  (and  not  so  far  off, 
either,  but  that  the  watching  towers  of  Notre-Dame,  almost 
equidistant  from  the  two  extremes,  could  see  them  both), 
they  would  have  been  an  exceedingly  uncomfortable  busi- 
ness—  if  that  could  have  been  anybody's  business,  at  the 
house  of  Monseigneur.  Military  officers  destitute  of  mili- 
tary knowledge;  naval  officers  with  no  idea  of  a  ship;  civil 
officers  without  a  notion  of  affairs ;  brazen  ecclesiastics,  of 
the  worst  world  worldly,  with  sensual  eyes,  loose  tongues, 
and  looser  lives ;  all  totally  unfit  for  their  several  callings, 
all  tying  horribly  in  pretending  to  belong  to  them,  but  all 
nearly  or  remotely  of  the  order  of  Monseigneur,  and  there- 
fore foisted  on  all  public  employments  from  which  anything 
was  to  be  got ;  these  were  to  be  told  off  by  the  score  and  the 
score.  People  not  immediately  connected  with  Monseigneur 
or  the  State,  yet  equally  unconnected  with  anything  that 
was  real,  or  with  lives  passed  in  travelling  by  any  straight 
road  to  any  true  earthly  end,  were  no  less  abundant. 
Doctors  who  made  great  fortunes  out  of  dainty  remedies  for 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  123 

imaginary  disorders  that  never  existed,  smiled  upon  their 
courtly  patients  in  the  ante-chambers  of  Monseigneur, 
Projectors  who  had  discovered  every  kind  of  remedy  for  the 
little  evils  with  which  the  State  was  touched,  except  the 
remedy  of  setting  to  work  in  earnest  to  root  out  a  single  sin, 
poured  their  distracting  babble  into  any  ears  they  could  lay 
hold  of,  at  the  reception  of  Monseigneur.  Unbelieving 
Philosophers  who  were  remodelling  the  world  with  words, 
and  making  card-towers  of  Babel  to  scale  the  skies  with, 
talked  with  Unbelieving  Chemists  who  had  an  eye  on  the 
transmutation  of  metals,  at  this  wonderful  gathering  accu- 
mulated by  Monseigneur.  Exquisite  gentlemen  of  the  finest 
breeding,  which  was  at  that  remarkable  time  —  and  has 
been  since  —  to  be  known  by  its  fruits  of  indifference  to 
every  natural  subject  of  human  interest,  were  in  the  most 
exemplary  state  of  exhaustion,  at  the  hotel  of  Monseigneur. 
Such  homes  had  these  various  notabilities  left  behind  them 
in  the  fine  world  of  Paris,  that  the  Spies  among  the 
assembled  devotees  of  Monseigneur  —  forming  a  goodly  half 
of  the  polite  company  —  would  have  found  it  hard  to  dis- 
cover among  the  angels  of  that  sphere  one  solitary  wife, 
who,  in  her  manners  and  appearance,  owned  to  being  a 
Mother.  Indeed,  except  for  the  mere  act  of  bringing  a 
troublesome  creature  into  this  world  —  which  does  not  go 
far  towards  the  realisation  of  the  name  of  mother  —  there 
was  no  such  thing  known  to  the  fashion.  Peasant  women 
kept  the  unfashionable  babies  close,  and  brought  them  up; 
and  charming  grandmammas  of  sixty  dressed  and  supped  as 
at  twenty. 

The  leprosy  of  unreality  disfigured  every  human  creature 
in  attendance  upon  Monseigneur.  In  the  outermost  room 
were  half  a  dozen  exceptional  people  who  had  had,  for  a 
few  years,  some  vague  misgiving  in  them  that  things  in 
general  were  going  rather  wrong.     As  a  promising  way  of 


124  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

setting  them  right,  half  of  the  half-dozen  had  become  mem- 
bers of  a  fantastic  sect  of  Convulsionists,  and  were  even 
then  considering  within  themselves  whether  they  should 
foam,  rage,  roar,  and  turn  cataleptic  on  the  spot  —  thereby 
setting  up  a  highly  intelligible  finger-post  to  the  Future, 
for  Monseigneur's  guidance.  Besides  these  Dervishes,  were 
other  three  who  had  rushed  into  another  sect,  which  mended 
matters  with  a  jargon  about  "  the  Centre  of  truth :  "  holding 
that  Man  had  got  out  of  the  Centre  of  truth  —  which  did 
not  need  much  demonstration  —  but  had  not  got  out  of  the 
Circumference,  and  that  he  was  to  be  kept  from  flying  out 
of  the  Circumference,  and  was  even  to  be  shoved  back  into 
the  Centre,  by  fasting  and  seeing  of  spirits.  Among  these, 
accordingly,  much  discoursing  with  spirits  went  on  —  and 
it  did  a  world  of  good  which  never  became  manifest. 

But,  the  comfort  was,  that  all  the  company  at  the  grand 
hotel  of  Monseigneur  were  perfectly  dressed.  If  the  Day 
of  Judgment  had  only  been  ascertained  to  be  a  dress  day, 
everybody  there  would  have  been  eternally  correct.  Such 
frizzling  and  powdering  and  sticking  up  of  hair,  such  deli- 
cate complexions  artificially  preserved  and  mended,  such 
gallant  swords  to  look  at,  and  such  delicate  honour  to  the 
sense  of  smell,  would  surely  keep  anything  going,  for  ever 
and  ever.  The  exquisite  gentlemen  of  the  finest  breeding 
wore  little  pendent  trinkets  that  chinked  as  they  languidly 
moved;  these  golden  fetters  rang  like  precious  little  bells; 
and  what  with  that  ringing,  and  with  the  rustle  of  silk  and 
brocade  and  fine  linen,  there  was  a  flutter  in  the  air  that 
fanned  Saint  Antoine  and  his  devouring  hunger  far  away. 

Dress  was  the  one  unfailing  talisman  and  charm  used  for 
keeping  all  things  in  their  places.  Everybody  was  dressed 
for  a  Fancy  Ball  that  was  never  to  leave  off.  From  the 
Palace  of  the  Tuileries,  through  Monseigneur  and  the  whole 
Court,  through  the  Chambers,  the  Tribunals  of  Justice,  and 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  125 

all  society  (except  the  scarecrows),  the  Fancy  Ball  descended 
to  the  Common  Executioner:  who,  in  pursuance  of  the 
charm,  was  required  to  officiate  "frizzled,  powdered,  in  a 
gold-laced  coat,  pumps,  and  white  silk  stockings."  At  the 
gallows  and  the  wheel  —  the  axe  was  a  rarity  —  Monsieur 
Paris,  as  it  was  the  episcopal  mode  among  his  brother 
Professors  of  the  provinces,  Monsieur  Orleans,  and  the  rest, 
to  call  him,  presided  in  this  dainty  dress.  And  who  among 
the  company  at  Monseigneur' s  reception  in  that  seventeen 
hundred  and  eightieth  year  of  our  Lord,  could  possibly 
doubt,  that  a  system  rooted  in  a  frizzled  hangman,  powdered, 
gold-laced,  pumped,  and  white-silk  stockinged,  would  see 
the  very  stars  out ! 

Monseigneur  having  eased  his  four  men  of  their  burdens 
and  taken  his  chocolate,  caused  the  doors  of  the  Holiest  of 
Holiests  to  be  thrown  open,  and  issued  forth.  Then,  what 
submission,  what  cringing  and  fawning,  what  servility, 
what  abject  humiliation!  As  to  bowing  down  in  body  and 
spirit,  nothing  in  that  way  was  left  for  Heaven  —  which 
may  have  been  one  among  other  reasons  why  the  wor- 
shippers of  Monseigneur  never  troubled  it. 

Bestowing  a  word  of  promise  here  and  a  smile  there,  a 
whisper  on  one  happy  slave  and  a  wave  of  the  hand  on 
another,  Monseigneur  affably  passed  through  his  rooms  to 
the  remote  region  of  the  Circumference  of  Truth.  There, 
Monseigneur  turned,  and  came  back  again,  and  so  in  due 
course  of  time  got  himself  shut  up  in  his  sanctuary  by  the 
chocolate  sprites,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

The  show  being  over,  the  nutter  in  the  air  became  quite 
a  little  storm,  and  the  precious  little  bells  went  ringing 
down-stairs.  There  was  soon  but  one  person  left  of  all  the 
crowd,  and  he,  with  his  hat  under  his  arm  and  his  snuff- 
box in  his  hand,  slowly  passed  among  the  mirrors  on  his 
way  out. 


126  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  I  devote  you, "  said  this  person,  stopping  at  the  last  door 
on  his  way,  and  turning  in  the  direction  of  the  sanctuary, 
"to  the  Devil!" 

With  that,  he  shook  the  snuff  from  his  fingers  as  if  he 
had  shaken  the  dust  from  his  feet,  and  quietly  walked  down 
stairs. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  sixty,  handsomely  dressed,  haughty 
in  manner,  and  with  a  face  like  a  fine  mask.  A  face  of  a 
transparent  paleness;  every  feature  in  it  clearly  defined; 
one  set  expression  on  it.  The  nose,  beautifully  formed  other- 
wise, was  very  slightly  pinched  at  the  top  of  each  nostril. 
In  those  two  compressions,  or  dints,  the  only  little  change 
that  the  face  ever  showed,  resided.  They  persisted  in 
changing  colour  sometimes,  and  they  would  be  occasionally 
dilated  and  contracted  by  something  like  a  faint  pulsation; 
then,  they  gave  a  look  of  treachery,  and  cruelty,  to  the 
whole  countenance.  Examined  with  attention,  its  capacity 
of  helping  such  a  look  was  to  be  found  in  the  line  of  the 
mouth,  and  the  lines  of  the  orbits  of  the  eyes,  being  much 
too  horizontal  and  thin;  still,  in  the  effect  the  face  made, 
it  was  a  handsome  face,  and  a  remarkable  one. 

Its  owner  went  down  stairs  into  the  court-yard,  got  into 
his  carriage,  and  drove  away.  Not  many  people  had  talked 
with  him  at  the  reception;  he  had  stood  in  a  little  space 
apart,  and  Monseigneur  might  have  been  warmer  in  his 
manner.  It  appeared,  under  the  circumstances,  rather  agree- 
able to  him  to  see  the  common  people  dispersed  before  his 
horses,  and  often  barely  escaping  from  being  run  down. 
His  man  drove  as  if  he  were  charging  an  enemy,  and  the 
furious  recklessness  of  the  man  brought  no  check  into  the 
face,  or  to  the  lips,  of  the  master.  The  complaint  had 
sometimes  made  itself  audible,  even  in  that  deaf  city  and 
dumb  age,  that,  in  the  narrow  streets  without  footways,  the 
fierce   patrician  custom   of   hard  driving  endangered  and 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  127 

maimed  the  mere  vulgar  in  a  barbarous  manner.  But,  few 
cared  enough  for  that  to  think  of  it  a  second  time,  and,  in 
this  matter,  as  in  all  others,  the  common  wretches  were  left 
to  get  out  of  their  difficulties  as  they  could. 

With  a  wild  rattle  and  clatter,  and  an  inhuman  abandon- 
ment of  consideration  not  easy  to  be  understood  in  these 
days,  the  carriage  dashed  through  streets  and  swept  round 
corners,  with  women  screaming  before  it,  and  men  clutching 
each  other  and  clutching  children  out  of  its  way.  At  last, 
swooping  at  a  street  corner  by  a  fountain,  one  of  its  wheels 
came  to  a  sickening  little  jolt,  and  there  was  a  loud  cry 
from  a  number  of  voices,  and  the  horses  reared  and  plunged. 

But  for  the  latter  inconvenience,  the  carriage  probably 
would  not  have  stopped:  carriages  were  often  known  to 
drive  on,  and  leave  their  wounded  behind,  and  why  not? 
But,  the  frightened  valet  had  got  down  in  a  hurry,  and  there 
were  twenty  hands  at  the  horses'  bridles. 

"What  has  gone  wrong?"  said  Monsieur,  calmly  looking 
out. 

A  tall  man  in  a  nightcap  had  caught  up  a  bundle  from 
among  the  feet  of  the  horses,  and  had  laid  it  on  the  base- 
ment of  the  fountain,  and  was  down  in  the  mud  and  wet, 
howling  over  it  like  a  wild  animal. 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur  the  Marquis !  "  said  a  ragged  and  sub- 
missive man,  "it  is  a  child." 

"Why  does  he  make  that  abominable  noise?  Is  it  his 
child?  " 

"Excuse  me,  Monsieur  the  Marquis  —  it  is  a  pity  — yes." 

The  fountain  was  a  little  removed ;  for  the  street  opened, 
where  it  was,  into  a  space  some  ten  or  twelve  yards  square. 
A  s  the  tall  man  suddenly  got  up  from  the  ground,  and  came 
running  at  the  carriage,  Monsieur  the  Marquis  clapped  his 
hand  for  an  instant  on  his  sword-hilt. 

"  Killed !  "  shrieked  the  man,  in  wild  desperation,  extend- 


128  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

ing  both  arms  at  their  length  above  his  head,  and  staring  at 
him.     "Dead!" 

The  people  closed  round,  and  looked  at  Monsieur  the 
Marquis.  There  was  nothing  revealed  by  the  many  eyes 
that  looked  at  him  but  watchfulness  and  eagerness ;  there 
was  no  visible  menacing  or  anger.  Neither  did  the  people 
say  anything;  after  the  first  cry,  they  had  been  silent,  and 
they  remained  so.  The  voice  of  the  submissive  man  who 
had  spoken,  was  flat  and  tame  in  its  extreme  submission. 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  ran  his  eyes  over  them  all,  as  if  they 
had  been  mere  rats  come  out  of  their  holes. 

He  took  out  his  purse. 

"It  is  extraordinary  to  me,"  said  he,  "that  you  people 
cannot  take  care  of  yourselves  and  your  children.  One  or 
the  other  of  you  is  for  ever  in  the  way.  How  do  I  know 
what  injury  you  have  done  my  horses.  See!  Give  him 
that." 

He  threw  out  a  gold  coin  for  the  valet  to  pick  up,  and  all 
the  heads  craned  forward  that  all  the  eyes  might  look  down 
at  it  as  it  fell.  The  tall  man  called  out  again  with  a  most 
unearthly  cry,  "  Dead !  " 

He  was  arrested  by  the  quick  arrival  of  another  man,  for 
whom  the  rest  made  way.  On  seeing  him,  the  miserable 
creature  fell  upon  his  shoulder,  sobbing  and  crying,  and 
pointing  to  the  fountain,  where  some  women  were  stooping 
over  the  motionless  bundle,  and  moving  gently  about  it. 
They  were  as  silent,  however,  as  the  men. 

"I  know  all,  I  know  all,"  said  the  last  comer.  "Be  a 
brave  man,  my  Gaspard!  It  is  better  for  the  poor  little 
plaything  to  die  so,  than  to  live.  It  has  died  in  a  moment 
without  pain.     Could  it  have  lived  an  hour  as  happily? ': 

"You  are  a  philosopher,  you  there,"  said  the  Marquis, 
smiling.     "  How  do  they  call  you?  " 

"They  call  me  Defarge." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  129 

"Of  what  trade?" 

"Monsieur  the  Marquis,  vendor  of  wine." 

"Pick  up  that,  philosopher  and  vendor  of  wine,"  said  the 
Marquis,  throwing  him  another  gold  coin,  "  and  spend  it  as 
you  will.     The  horses  there;  are  they  right? " 

Without  deigning  to  look  at  the  assemblage  a  second  time, 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  and  was  just 
being  driven  away  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman  who  had 
accidentally  broken  some  common  thing,  and  had  paid  for 
it  and  could  afford  to  pay  for  it ;  when  his  ease  was  suddenly 
disturbed  by  a  coin  flying  into  his  carriage,  and  ringing  on 
its  floor. 

"  Hold !  "  said  Monsieur  the  Marquis.  "  Hold  the  horses ! 
Who  threw  that?  " 

He  looked  to  the  spot  where  Defarge  the  vendor  of  wine 
had  stood,  a  moment  before;  but  the  wretched  father  was 
grovelling  on  his  face  on  the  pavement  in  that  spot,  and  the 
figure  that  stood  beside  him  was  the  figure  of  a  dark  stout 
woman,  knitting. 

"  Yor.  dogs ! "  said  the  Marquis,  but  smoothly,  and  with 
an  unchanged  front,  except  as  to  the  spots  on  his  nose :  "  I 
would  ride  over  any  of  you  very  willingly,  and  exterminate 
you  from  the  earth.  If  I  knew  which  rascal  threw  at  the 
carriage,  and  if  that  brigand  were  sufficiently  near  it,  he 
should  be  crushed  under  the  wheels." 

So  cowed  was  their  condition,  and  so  long  and  hard  their 
experience  of  what  such  a  man  could  do  to  them,  within  the 
law  and  beyond  it,  that  not  a  voice,  or  a  hand,  or  even  an 
eye  was  raised.  Among  the  men,  not  one.  But  the  woman 
who  stood  knitting  looked  up  steadily,  and  looked  the  Mar- 
quis in  the  face.  It  was  not  for  his  dignity  to  notice  it; 
his  contemptuous  eyes  passed  over  her,  and  over  all  the 
other  rats ;  and  he  leaned  back  in  his  seat  again,  and  gave 
the  word  "  Go  on !  " 

K 


130  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

He  was  driven  on,  and  other  carriages  came  whirling  by 
in  quick  succession;  the  Minister,  the  State-Projector,  the 
Farmer-General,  the  Doctor,  the  Lawyer,  the  Ecclesiastic, 
the  Grand  Opera,  the  Comedy,  the  whole  Fancy  Ball  in  a 
bright  continuous  flow,  came  whirling  by.  The  rats  had 
crept  out  of  their  holes  to  look  on,  and  they  remained  look- 
ing on  for  hours;  soldiers  and  police  often  passing  between 
them  and  the  spectacle,  and  making  a  barrier  behind  which 
they  slunk,  and  through  which  they  peeped.  The  father 
had  long  ago  taken  up  his  bundle  and  hidden  himself  away 
with  it,  when  the  women  who  had  tended  the  bundle  while 
it  lay  on  the  base  of  the  fountain,  sat  there  watching  the 
running  of  the  water  and  the  rolling  of  the  Fancy  Ball  — 
when  the  one  woman  who  had  stood  conspicuous,  knitting, 
still  knitted  on  with  the  steadfastness  of  Fate.  The  water 
of  the  fountain  ran,  the  swift  river  ran,  the  day  ran  into 
evening,  so  much  life  in  the  city  ran  into  death  according 
to  rule,  time  and  tide  waited  for  no  man,  the  rats  were 
sleeping  close  together  in  their  dark  holes  again,  the  Fancy 
Ball  was  lighted  up  at  supper,  all  things  ran  their  course. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

MONSEIGNEUR    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

A  beautiful  landscape,  with  the  corn  bright  in  it  but  not 
abundant.  Patches  of  poor  rye  where  corn  should  have 
been,  patches  of  poor  peas  and  beans,  patches  of  most  coarse 
vegetable  substitutes  for  wheat.  On  inanimate  nature,  as 
on  the  men  and  women  who  cultivated  it,  a  prevalent  ten- 
dency towards  an  appearance  of  vegetating  unwillingly  —  a 
dejected  disposition  to  give  up,  and  wither  away. 

Monsieur  the  Marquis  in  his  travelling  carriage  (which 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  131 

might  have  been  lighter),  conducted  by  four  post-horses  and 
two  postilions,  fagged  up  a  steep  hill.  A  blush  on  the 
countenance  of  Monsieur  the  Marquis  was  no  impeachment 
of  his  high  breeding;  it  was  not  from  within;  it  was  occa- 
sioned by  an  external  circumstance  beyond  his  control  —  the 
setting  sun. 

The  sunset  struck  so  brilliantly  into  the  travelling  car- 
riage when  it  gained  the  hill-top,  that  its  occupant  was 
steeped  in  crimson.  "It  will  die  out,"  said  Monsieur  the 
Marquis,  glancing  at  his  hands,  "directly." 

In  effect,  the  sun  was  so  low  that  it  dipped  at  the  moment. 
When  the  heavy  drag  had  been  adjusted  to  the  wheel,  and 
the  carriage  slid  down-hill,  with  a  cinderous  smell,  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  the  red  glow  departed  quickly;  the  sun  and 
the  Marquis  going  down  together,  there  was  no  glow  left 
when  the  drag  was  taken  off. 

But,  there  remained  a  broken  country,  bold  and  open,  a 
little  village  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  a  broad  sweep  and 
rise  beyond  it,  a  church-tower,  a  windmill,  a  forest  for  the 
chase,  and  a  crag  with  a  fortress  on  it  used  as  a  prison. 
Round  upon  all  these  darkening  objects  as  the  night  drew 
on,  the  Marquis  looked,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  coming 
near  home. 

The  village  had  its  one  poor  street,  with  its  poor  brewery, 
poor  tannery,  poor  tavern,  poor  stable-yard  for  relays  of 
post-horses,  poor  fountain,  all  usual  poor  appointments. 
It  had  its  poor  people  too.  All  its  people  were  poor,  and 
many  of  them  were  sitting  at  their  doors,  shredding  spare 
onions  and  the  like  for  supper,  while  many  were  at  the 
fountain,  washing  leaves,  and  grasses,  and  any  such  small 
yieldings  of  the  earth  that  could  be  eaten.  Expressive 
signs  of  what  made  them  poor,  were  not  wanting;  the  tax 
for  the  state,  the  tax  for  the  church,  the  tax  for  the  lord, 
tax  local  and  tax  general,  were  to  be  paid  here  and  to  be 


132  A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES. 

paid  there,  according  to  solemn  inscription  in  the  little  vil- 
lage, until  the  wonder  was,  that  there  was  any  village  left 
unswallowed. 

Few  children  were  to  be  seen,  and  no  dogs.  As  to  the 
men  and  women,  their  choice  on  earth  was  stated  in  the 
prospect  —  Life  on  the  lowest  terms  that  could  sustain  it, 
down  in  the  little  village  under  the  mill;  or  captivity  and 
Death  in  the  dominant  prison  on  the  crag. 

Heralded  by  a  courier  in  advance,  and  by  the  cracking  of 
his  postilions'  whips,  which  twined  snake -like  about  their 
heads  in  the  evening  air,  as  if  he  came  attended  by  the 
Furies,  Monsieur  the  Marquis  drew  up  in  his  travelling 
carriage  at  the  posting-house  gate.  It  was  hard  by  the 
fountain,  and  the  peasants  suspended  their  operations  to 
look  at  him.  He  looked  at  them,  and  saw  in  them,  without 
knowing  it,  the  slow  sure  filing  down  of  misery-worn  face 
and  figure,  that  was  to  make  the  meagreness  of  Frenchmen 
an  English  superstition  which  should  survive  the  truth 
through  the  best  part  of  a  hundred  years. 

Monsieur  the  Marquis  cast  his  eyes  over  the  submissive 
faces  that  drooped  before  him,  as  the  like  of  himself  had 
drooped  before  Monseigneur  of  the  Court  —  only  the  differ- 
ence was,  that  these  faces  drooped  merely  to  suffer  and  not 
to  propitiate  —  when  a  gr \zzled  mender  of  the  roads  joined 
the  group. 

"  Bring  me  hither  that  fellow !  "  said  the  Marquis  to  the 
courier. 

The  fellow  was  brought,  cap  in  hand,  and  the  other  fel- 
lows closed  round  to  look  and  listen,  in  the  manner  of  the 
people  at  the  Paris  fountain. 

"I  passed  you  on  the  road?" 

"Monseigneur,  it  is  true.  I  had  the  honour  of  being 
passed  on  the  road." 

"  Coming  up  the  hill,  and  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  both?  " 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  133 

" Monseigneur,  it  is  true." 

"What  did  you  look  at,  so  fixedly?" 

"Monseigneur,  I  looked  at  the  man." 

He  stooped  a  little,  and  with  his  tattered  blue  cap  pointed 
under  the  carriage.  All  his  fellows  stooped  to  look  under 
the  carriage. 

"What  man,  pig?     And  why  look  there?  " 

"Pardon,  Monseigneur;  he  swung  by  the  chain  of  the 
shoe  —  the  drag." 

"Who?"  demanded  the  traveller. 

"Monseigneur,  the  man.''" 

"  May  the  Devil  carry  away  these  idiots !  How  do  you 
call  the  man?  You  know  all  the  men  of  this  part  of  the 
country.     Who  was  he?" 

"Your  clemency,  Monseigneur!  He  was  not  of  this 
part  of  the  country.  Of  all  the  days  of  my  life,  I  never 
saw  him." 

"  Swinging  by  the  chain?     To  be  suffocated?  " 

"  With  your  gracious  permission,  that  was  the  wonder  of 
it,  Monseigneur.     His  head  hanging  over  —  like  this !  " 

He  turned  himself  sideways  to  the  carriage,  and  leaned 
back,  with  his  face  thrown  up  to  the  sky,  and  his  head 
hanging  down;  then  recovered  himself,  fumbled  with  his 
cap,  and  made  a  bow. 

"What  was  he  like?" 

"  Monseigneur,  he  was  whiter  than  the  miller.  All  cov- 
ered with  dust,  white  as  a  spectre,  tall  as  a  spectre ! ': 

The  picture  produced  an  immense  sensation  in  the  little 
crowd;  but  all  eyes,  without  comparing  notes  with  other 
eyes,  looked  at  Monsieur  the  Marquis.  Perhaps,  to  observe 
whether  he  had  any  spectre  on  his  conscience. 

"Truly,  you  did  well,"  said  the  Marquis,  felicitously 
sensible  that  such  vermin  were  not  to  ruffle  him,  ''to 
see  a  thief  accompanying  my  carriage,  and  not  open  that 


134  A   TALE   OF  TWO  CITIES. 

great  mouth  of  yours.      Bah!     Put  him  aside,   Monsieur 
Gabelle ! " 

Monsieur  Gabelle  was  the  Postmaster,  and  some  other 
taxing  functionary,  united  j  he  had  come  out  with  great 
obsequiousness  to  assist  at  this  examination,  and  had  held 
the  examined  by  the  drapery  of  his  arm  in  an  official 
manner. 

"Bah!     Go  aside!  "  said  Monsieur  Gabelle. 

"Lay  hands  on  this  stranger  if  he  seeks  to  lodge  in  your 
village  to-night,  and  be  sure  that  his  business  is  honest, 
Gabelle." 

"  Monseigneur,  I  am  flattered  to  devote  myself  to  your 
orders." 

"  Did  he  run  away,  fellow?  —  where  is  that  Accursed? '; 

The  accursed  was  already  under  the  carriage  with  some 
half-dozen  particular  friends,  pointing  out  the  chain  with 
his  blue  cap.  Some  half-dozen  other  particular  friends 
promptly  haled  him  out,  and  presented  him  breathless  to 
Monsieur  the  Marquis. 

"  Did  the  man  run  away,  Dolt,  when  we  stopped  for  the 
drag?" 

"Monseigneur,  he  precipitated  himself  over  the  hill-side, 
head  first,  as  a  person  plunges  into  the  river." 

"  See  to  it,  Gabelle.     Go  on !  " 

The  half-dozen  who  were  peering  at  the  chain  were  still 
among  the  wheels,  like  sheep;  the  wheels  turned  so  sud- 
denly that  they  were  lucky  to  save  their  skins  and  bones ; 
they  had  very  little  else  to  save,  or  they  might  not  have 
been  so  fortunate. 

The  burst  with  which  the  carriage  started  out  of  the  vil- 
lage and  up  the  rise  beyond,  was  soon  checked  by  the  steep- 
ness of  the  hill.  Gradually,  it  subsided  to  a  foot  pace, 
swinging  and  lumbering  upward  among  the  many  sweet 
scents  of  a  summer  night.     The  postilions,  with  a  thousand 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  135 

gossamer  gnats  circling  about  them  in  lieu  of  the  Furies, 
quietly  mended  the  points  to  the  lashes  of  their  whips ;  the 
valet  walked  by  the  horses ;  the  courier  was  audible,  trot- 
ting on  ahead  into  the  dim  distance. 

At  the  steepest  point  of  the  hill  there  was  a  little  burial- 
ground,  with  a  Cross  and  a  new  large  figure  of  Our  Saviour 
on  it;  it  was  a  poor  figure  in  wood,  done  by  some  inexpe- 
rienced rustic  carver,  but  he  had  studied  the  figure  from  the 
life  —  his  own  life,  maybe  —  for  it  was  dreadfully  spare 
and  thin. 

To  this  distressful  emblem  of  a  great  distress  that  had 
long  been  growing  worse,  and  was  not  at  its  worst,  a  woman 
was  kneeling.  She  turned  her  head  as  the  carriage  came 
up  to  her,  rose  quickly,  and  presented  herself  at  the  car- 
riage-door. 

"It  is  you,  Monseigneur!     Monseigneur,  a  petition." 

With  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  but  with  his  un- 
changeable face,  Monseigneur  looked  out. 

"How,  then!     What  is  it?     Always  petitions!" 

"  Monseigneur.  For  the  love  of  the  great  God !  My  hus- 
band, the  forester." 

"What  of  your  husband,  the  forester?  Always  the  same 
with  you  people.     He  cannot  pay  something?" 

"He  has  paid  all,  Monseigneur.     He  is  dead." 

"Well!     He  is  quiet.     Can  I  restore  him  to  you?" 

"Alas  no,  Monseigneur!     But  he  lies  yonder,  under  a 
little  heap  of  poor  grass." 

"Well?" 

"Monseigneur,  there  are  so  many  little  heaps  of  poor 
grass?" 

"Again,  well?" 

She  looked  an  old  woman,  but  was  young.  Her  manner 
was  one  of  passionate  grief;  by  turns  she  clasped  her  vein- 
ous  and  knotted  hands  together  with  wild  energy,  and  laid 


136  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

one  of  them  on  the  carriage-door  —  tenderly,  caressingly, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  human  breast,  and  could  be  expected  to 
feel  the  appealing  touch. 

" Monseigneur,  hear  me!  Monseigneur,  hear  my  peti- 
tion !  My  husband  died  of  want ;  so  many  die  of  want ;  so 
many  more  will  die  of  want." 

"Again,  well?     Can  I  feed  them?" 

"Monseigneur,  the  good  God  knows;  but  I  don't  ask  it. 
My  petition  is,  that  a  morsel  of  stone  or  wood,  with  my 
husband's  name,  may  be  placed  over  him  to  show  where  he 
lies.  Otherwise,  the  place  will  be  quickly  forgotten,  it 
will  never  be  found  when  I  am  dead  of  the  same  malady,  I 
shall  be  laid  under  some  other  heap  of  poor  grass.  Mon- 
seigneur, they  are  so  many,  they  increase  so  fast,  there  is 
so  much  want.     Monseigneur!     Monseigneur!" 

The  valet  had  put  her  away  from  the  door,  the  carriage 
had  broken  into  a  brisk  trot,  the  postilions  had  quickened 
the  pace,  she  was  left  far  behind,  and  Monseigneur,  again 
escorted  by  the  Furies,  was  rapidly  diminishing  the  league 
or  two  of  distance  that  remained  between  him  and  his 
chateau. 

The  sweet  scents  of  the  summer  night  rose  all  around 
him,  and  rose,  as  the  rain  falls,  impartially,  on  the  dusty, 
ragged,  and  toil-worn  group  at  the  fountain  not  far  away; 
to  whom  the  mender  of  roads,  with  the  aid  of  the  blue  cap 
without  which  he  was  nothing,  still  enlarged  upon  his  man 
like  a  spectre,  as  long  as  they  could  bear  it.  By  degrees, 
as  they  could  bear  no  more,  they  dropped  off  one  by  one, 
and  lights  twinkled  in  little  casements;  which  lights,  as 
the  casements  darkened,  and  more  stars  came  out,  seemed 
to  have  shot  up  into  the  sky  instead  of  having  been  extin- 
guished. 

The  shadow  of  a  large  high-roofed  house,  and  of  many 
overhanging  trees,  was  upon  Monsieur  the  Marquis  by  that 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  137 

time;  and  the  shadow  was  exchanged  for  the  light  of  a 
flambeau,  as  his  carriage  stopped,  and  the  great  door  of  his 
chateau  was  opened  to  him. 

"Monsieur  Charles,  whom  I  expect;  is  he  arrived  from 
England?" 

" Monseigneur,  not  yet." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    GORGON'S    HEAD. 


It  was  a  heavy  mass  of  building,  that  chateau  of  Mon- 
sieur the  Marquis,  with  a  large  stone  court-yard  before  it, 
and  two  stone  sweeps  of  staircase  meeting  in  a  stone  terrace 
before  the  principal  door.  A  stony  business  altogether, 
with  heavy  stone  balustrades,  and  stone  urns,  and  stone 
flowers,  and  stone  faces  of  men,  and  stone  heads  of  lions, 
in  all  directions.  As  if  the  Gorgon's  head  had  surveyed  it, 
when  it  was  finished,  two  centuries  ago. 

Up  the  broad  flight  of  shallow  steps,  Monsieur  the  Mar- 
quis, flambeau  preceded,  went  from  his  carriage,  suffi- 
ciently disturbing  the  darkness  to  elicit  loud  remonstrance 
from  an  owl  in  the  roof  of  the  great  pile  of  stable-building 
away  among  the  trees.  All  else  was  so  quiet,  that  the  flam- 
beau carried  up  the  steps,  and  the  other  flambeau  held  at 
the  great  door,  burnt  as  if  they  were  in  a  close  room  of 
state,  instead  of  being  in  the  open  night-air.  Other  sound 
than  the  owl's  voice  there  was  none,  save  the  falling  of  a 
fountain  into  its  stone  basin;  for,  it  was  one  of  those  dark 
nights  that  hold  their  breath  by  the  hour  together,  and  then 
heave  a  long  low  sigh,  and  hold  their  breath  again. 

The  great  door  clanged  behind  him,  and  Monsieur  the 
Marquis  crossed  a  hall  grim  with  certain  old  boar-spears, 


138  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

swords,  and  knives  of  the  chase;  grimmer  with  certain 
heavy  riding-rods  and  riding-whips,  of  which  many  a  peas- 
ant, gone  to  his  benefactor  Death,  had  felt  the  weight  when 
his  lord  was  angry. 

Avoiding  the  larger  rooms,  which  were  dark  and  made 
fast  for  the  night,  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  with  his  flam- 
beau-bearer going  on  before,  went  up  the  staircase  to  a  door 
in  a  corridor.  This  thrown  open  admitted  him  to  his  own 
private  apartment  of  three  rooms;  his  bed-chamber  and 
two  others.  High  vaulted  rooms  with  cool  uncarpeted 
floors,  great  dogs  upon  the  hearths  for  the  burning  of  wood 
in  winter  time,  and  all  luxuries  befitting  the  state  of  a 
marquis  in  a  luxurious  age  and  country.  The  fashion  of 
the  last  Louis  but  one,  of  the  line  that  was  never  to  break 
—  the  fourteenth  Louis  —  was  conspicuous  in  their  rich 
furniture ;  but,  it  was  diversified  by  many  objects  that  were 
illustrations  of  old  pages  in  the  history  of  France. 

A  supper-table  was  laid  for  two,  in  the  third  of  the 
rooms,  a  round  room,  in  one  of  the  chateau's  four  extin- 
guisher-topped towers.  A  small  lofty  room,  with  its  win- 
dow wide  open,  and  the  wooden  jalousie-blinds  closed, 
so  that  the  dark  night  only  showed  in  slight  horizontal 
lines  of  black,  alternating  with  their  broad  lines  of  stone 
colour. 

"My  nephew,"  said  the  Marquis,  glancing  at  the  supper 
preparation ;  "  they  said  he  was  not  arrived. " 

Nor  was  he;  but,  he  had  been  expected  with  Mon- 
seigneur. 

"  Ah !  It  is  not  probable  he  will  arrive  to-night ;  never- 
theless, leave  the  table  as  it  is.  I  shall  be  ready  in  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Monseigneur  was  ready,  and  sat 
down  alone  to  his  sumptuous  and  choice  supper.  His 
chair  was  opposite  to  the  window,  and  he  had  taken  his 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  139 

soup,  and  was  raising  his  glass  of  Bordeaux  to  his  lips, 
when  he  put  it  down. 

"What  is  that?"  he  calmly  asked,  looking  with  atten- 
tion at  the  horizontal  lines  of  black  and  stone  colour. 

"  Monseigneur?     That?  " 

"  Outside  the  blinds.     Open  the  blinds." 

It  was  done. 

"Well?" 

<l  Monseigneur,  it  is  nothing.  The  trees  and  the  night 
are  all  that  are  here." 

The  servant  who  spoke,  had  thrown  the  blinds  wide,  had 
looked  out  into  the  vacant  darkness,  and  stood,  with  that 
blank  behind  him,  looking  round  for  instructions. 

"Good,"  said  the  imperturbable  master.  "Close  them 
again." 

That  was  done  too,  and  the  Marquis  went  on  with  his 
supper.  He  was  half  way  through  it,  when  he  again 
stopped  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  hearing  the  sound  of 
wheels.  It  came  on  briskly,  and  came  up  to  the  front  of 
the  chateau. 

"Ask  who  is  arrived." 

It  was  the  nephew  of  Monseigneur.  He  had  been  some 
few  leagues  behind  Monseigneur,  early  in  the  afternoon. 
He  had  diminished  the  distance  rapidly,  but  not  so  rapidly 
as  to  come  up  with  Monseigneur  on  the  road.  He  had  heard 
■of  Monseigneur,  at  the  posting-houses,  as  being  before  him. 

He  was  to  be  told  (said  Monseigneur)  that  supper  awaited 
him  then  and  there,  and  that  he  was  prayed  to  come  to  it. 
In  a  little  while,  he  came.  He  had  been  known  in  England 
as  Charles  Darnay. 

Monseigneur  received  him  in  a  courtly  manner,  but  they 
did  not  shake  hands. 

"You  left  Paris  yesterday,  sir?"  he  said  to  Monsei- 
gneur, as  he  took  his  seat  at  table. 


140  A  TALE   OF  TWO  CITIES. 

"Yesterday.     And  you?" 

"I  come  direct." 

"From  London?" 

"Yes." 

"  Yon  have  been  a  long  time  commg, "  said  the  Marquis, 
with  a  smile. 

"On  the  contrary;  I  come  direct." 

"Pardon  me!  I  mean,  not  a  long  time  on  the  journey; 
a  long  time  intending  the  journey." 

"  I  have  been  detained  by  "  —  the  nephew  stopped  a 
moment  in  his  answer  —  "various  business." 

"Without  doubt,"  said  the  polished  uncle. 

So  long  as  a  servant  was  present,  no  other  words  passed 
between  them.  When  coffee  had  been  served  and  they 
were  alone  together,  the  nephew,  looking  at  the  uncle  and 
meeting  the  eyes  of  the  face  that  was  like  a  fine  mask, 
opened  a  conversation. 

"  I  have  come  back,  sir,  as  you  anticipate,  pursuing  the 
object  that  took  me  away.  It  carried  me  into  great  and 
unexpected  peril;  but  it  is  a  sacred  object,  and  if  it 
had  carried  me  to  death  I  hope  it  would  have  sustained 
me." 

"Not  to  death,"  said  the  uncle;  "it  is  not  necessary  to 
say,  to  death." 

"  I  doubt,  sir,"  returned  the  nephew,  "  whether,  if  it  had 
carried  me  to  the  utmost  brink  of  death,  you  would  have 
cared  to  stop  me  there." 

The  deepened  marks  in  the  nose,  and  the  lengthening  of 
the  fine  straight  lines  in  the  cruel  face,  looked  ominous  as 
to  that ;  the  uncle  made  a  graceful  gesture  of  protest,  which 
was  so  clearly  a  slight  form  of  good  breeding  that  it  was 
not  reassuring. 

"Indeed,  sir,"  pursued  the  nephew,  "for  anything  I 
know,  you  may  have  expressly  worked  to  give  a  more  sus- 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  141 

picious   appearance   to  the   suspicious  circumstances  that 
surrounded  me." 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  the  uncle,  pleasantly. 

"But,  however  that  may  be,"  resumed  the  nephew,  glanc- 
ing at  him  with  deep  distrust,  "  I  know  that  your  diplomacy 
would  stop  me  by  any  means,  and  would  know  no  scruple 
as  to  means." 

"My  friend,  I  told  you  so,"  said  the  uncle,  with  a  fine 
pulsation  in  the  two  marks.  "Do  me  the  favour  to  recall 
that  I  told  you  so,  long  ago." 

"I  recall  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Marquis  —  very  sweetly  indeed. 

His  tone  lingered  in  the  air,  almost  like  the  tone  of  a 
musical  instrument. 

"In  effect,  sir,"  pursued  the  nephew,  "I  believe  it  to  be 
at  once  your  bad  fortune,  and  my  good  fortune,  that  has 
kept  me  out  of  a  prison  in  France  here." 

"I  do  not  quite  understand,"  returned  the  uncle,  sipping 
his  coffee.     "Dare  I  ask  you  to  explain?" 

"  I  believe  that  if  you  were  not  in  disgrace  with  the  court, 
and  had  not  been  overshadowed  by  that  cloud  for  years  past, 
a  letter  de  cachet  would  have  sent  me  to  some  fortress 
indefinitely." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  the  uncle,  with  great  calmness. 
"  For  the  honour  of  the  family,  I  could  even  resolve  to 
incommode  you  to  that  extent.     Pray  excuse  me !  " 

"  I  perceive  that,  happily  for  me,  the  Reception  of  the  day 
before  yesterday  was,  as  usual,  a  cold  one,"  observed  the 
nephew. 

"I  would  not  say  happily,  my  friend,"  returned  the 
uncle,  with  refined  politeness ;  "  I  would  not  be  sure  of  that. 
A  good  opportunity  for  consideration,  surrounded  by  the 
advantages  of  solitude,  might  influence  your  destiny  to  far 
greater  advantage  than  you  influence  it  for  yourself.     But 


142  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

it  is  useless  to  discuss  the  question.  I  am,  as  you  say,  at  a 
disadvantage.  These  little  instruments  of  correction,  these 
gentle  aids  to  the  power  and  honour  of  families,  these  slight 
favours  that  might  so  incommode  you,  are  only  to  be 
obtained  now  by  interest  and  importunity.  They  are  sought 
by  so  many,  and  they  are  granted  (comparatively)  to  so  few ! 
It  used  not  to  be  so,  but  France  in  all  such  things  is  changed 
for  the  worse.  Our  not  remote  ancestors  held  the  right  of 
life  and  death  over  the  surrounding  vulgar.  From  this 
room,  many  such  dogs  have  been  taken  out  to  be  hanged ;  in 
the  next  room  (my  bedroom),  one  fellow,  to  our  knowledge, 
was  poniarded  on  the  spot  for  professing  some  insolent 
delicacy  respecting  his  daughter  —  his  daughter !  We  have 
lost  many  privileges;  a  new  philosophy  has  become  the 
mode;  and  the  assertion  of  our  station,  in  these  days,  might 
(I  do  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  would,  but  might)  cause  us  real 
inconvenience.     All  very  bad,  very  bad!  " 

The  Marquis  took  a  gentle  little  pinch  of  snuff,  and 
shook  his  head;  as  elegantly  despondent  as  he  could  becom- 
ingly be,  of  a  country  still  containing  himself,  that  great 
means  of  regeneration. 

"  We  have  so  asserted  our  station,  both  in  the  old  time 
and  in  the  modern  time  also,"  said  the  nephew,  gloomily, 
"that  I  believe  our  name  to  be  more  detested  than  any 
name  in  France." 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  said  the  uncle.  "Detestation  of  the 
high  is  the  involuntary  homage  of  the  low." 

"There  is  not,"  pursued  the  nephew,  in  his  former  tone, 
"  a  face  I  can  look  at,  in  all  this  country  round  about  us, 
which  looks  at  me  with  any  deference  on  it  but  the  dark 
deference  of  fear  and  slavery." 

"A  compliment,"  said  the  Marquis,  "to  the  grandeur  of 
the  family,  merited  by  the  manner  in  which  the  family 
has    sustained    its   grandeur.     Hah ! "     And   he   took   an- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  143 

other  gentle  little  pinch  of  snuff,  and  lightly  crossed  his 
legs. 

But,  when  his  nephew,  leaning  an  elbow  on  the  table, 
covered  his  eyes  thoughtfully  and  dejectedly  with  his  hand, 
the  fine  mask  looked  at  him  sideways  with  a  stronger  con- 
centration of  keenness,  closeness,  and  dislike,  than  was 
comportable  with  its  wearer's  assumption  of  indifference. 

"Repression  is  the  only  lasting  philosophy.  The  dark 
deference  of  fear  and  slavery,  my  friend,"  observed  the 
Marquis,  "will  keep  the  dogs  obedient  to  the  whip,  as  long 
as  this  roof,"  looking  up  to  it,  "shuts  out  the  sky." 

That  might  not  be  so  long  as  the  Marquis  supposed.  If 
a  picture  of  the  chateau  as  it  was  to  be  a  very  few  years 
hence,  and  of  fifty  like  it  as  they  too  were  to  be  a  very  few 
years  hence,  could  have  been  shown  to  him  that  night,  he 
might  have  been  at  a  loss  to  claim  his  own  from  the  ghastly, 
fire-charred,  plunder-wrecked  ruins.  As  for  the  roof  he 
vaunted,  he  might  have  found  that  shutting  out  the  sky  in  a 
new  way  —  to  wit,  for  ever,  from  the  eyes  of  the  bodies  into 
which  its  lead  was  fired,  out  of  the  barrels  of  a  hundred 
thousand  muskets. 

"Meanwhile,"  said  the  Marquis,  "I  will  preserve  the 
honour  and  repose  of  the  family,  if  you  will  not.  But  you 
must  be  fatigued.  Shall  we  terminate  our  conference  for 
the  night?" 

"A  moment  more." 

"An  hour,  if  you  please." 

"  Sir, "  said  the  nephew,  "  we  have  done  wrong,  and  are 
reaping  the  fruits  of  wrong." 

"  We  have  done  wrong?  "  repeated  the  Marquis,  with  an 
inquiring  smile,  and  delicately  pointing,  first  to  his  nephew, 
then  to  himself. 

"  Our  family ;  our  honourable  family,  whose  honour  is  of 
so  much  account  to  both  of  us,  in  such   different  ways. 


144  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Even  in  my  father's  time,  we  did  a  world  of  wrong,  injur- 
ing every  human  creature  who  came  between  us  and  our 
pleasure,  whatever  it  was.  Why  need  I  speak  of  my 
father's  time,  when  it  is  equally  yours?  Can  I  separate 
my  father's  twin-brother,  joint  inheritor,  and  next  suc- 
cessor, from  himself?  " 

"  Death  has  done  that !  "  said  the  Marquis. 

"  And  has  left  me, "  answered  the  nephew,  "  bound  to  a 
system  that  is  frightful  to  me,  responsible  for  it,  but 
powerless  in  it;  seeking  to  execute  the  last  request  of  my 
dear  mother's  lips,  and  obey  the  last  look  of  my  dear 
mother's  eyes,  which  implored  me  to  have  mercy  and  to 
redress;  and  tortured  by  seeking  assistance  and  power  in 
vain." 

"Seeking  them  from  me,  my  nephew,"  said  the  Marquis, 
touching  him  on  the  breast  with  his  forefinger  —  they  were 
now  standing  by  the  hearth  —  "you  will  for  ever  seek  them 
in  vain,  be  assured." 

Every  fine  straight  line  in  the  clear  whiteness  of  his  face, 
was  cruelly,  craftily,  and  closely  compressed,  while  he  stood 
looking  quietly  at  his  nephew,  with  his  snuff-box  in  his 
hand.  Once  again  he  touched  him  on  the  breast,  as  though 
his  finger  were  the  fine  point  of  a  small  sword,  with  which, 
in  delicate  finesse,  he  ran  him  through  the  body,  and  said, 

"My  friend,  I  will  die,  perpetuating  the  system  under 
which  I  have  lived." 

When  he  had  said  it,  he  took  a  culminating  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  put  his  box  in  his  pocket. 

"Better  to  be  a  rational  creature,"  he  added  then,  after 
ringing  a  small  bell  on  the  table,  "  and  accept  your  natural 
destiny.     But  you  are  lost,  Monsieur  Charles,  I  see." 

"This  property  and  France  are  lost  to  me,"  said  the 
nephew,  sadly;  "I  renounce  them." 

"Are  they  both  yours  to  renounce?     France  may  be,  but 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  145 

is  the  property?     It  is  scarcely  worth  mentioning;  but,  is 
it  yet?  " 

"  I  had  no  intention,  in  the  words  I  used,  to  claim  it  yet. 
If  it  passed  to  me  from  you,  to-morrow " 

"Which  I  have  the  vanity  to  hope  is  not  probable." 

"  —  or  twenty  years  hence " 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honour, "  said  the  Marquis ;  "  still, 
I  prefer  that  supposition." 

"  —  I  would  abandon  it,  and  live  otherwise  and  elsewhere. 
It  is  little  to  relinquish.  What  is  it  but  a  wilderness  of 
misery  and  ruin !  " 

"  Hah !  "  said  the  Marquis,  glancing  round  the  luxurious 
room. 

"To  the  eye  it  is  fair  enough,  here;  but  seen  in  its 
integrity,  under  the  sky,  and  by  the  daylight,  it  is  a  crum- 
bling tower  of  waste,  mismanagement,  extortion,  debt,  mort- 
gage, oppression,  hunger,  nakedness,  and  suffering." 

"  Hah ! "  said  the  Marquis  again,  in  a  well-satisfied 
manner. 

"  If  it  ever  becomes  mine,  it  shall  be  put  into  some  hands 
better  qualified  to  free  it  slowly  (if  such  a  thing  is  pos- 
sible) from  the  weight  that  drags  it  down,  so  that  the 
miserable  people  who  cannot  leave  it  and  who  have  been 
long  wrung  to  the  last  point  of  endurance,  may,  in  another 
generation,  suffer  less;  but  it  is  not  for  me.  There  is  a 
curse  on  it,  and  on  all  this  land." 

"And  you?"  said  the  uncle.  "Forgive  my  curiosity; 
do  you,  under  your  new  philosophy,  graciously  intend  to 
live?" 

"  I  must  do,  to  live,  what  others  of  my  countrymen,  even 
with  nobility  at  their  backs,  may  have  to  do  some  day  — 
work." 

"In  England,  for  example?" 

"Yes.     The  family  honour,  sir,  is  safe  for  me  in  this 


146  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

country.     The  family  name  can  suffer  from  me  in  no  other, 
for  I  bear  it  in  no  other." 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  had  caused  the  adjoining  bed- 
chamber to  be  lighted.  It  now  shone  brightly,  through  the 
door  of  communication.  The  Marquis  looked  that  way,  and 
listened  for  the  retreating  step  of  his  valet. 

"  England  is  very  attractive  to  you,  seeing  how  indiffer- 
ently you  have  prospered  there,"  he  observed  then,  turning 
his  calm  face  to  his  nephew  with  a  smile. 

"  I  have  already  said,  that  for  my  prospering  there,  I  am 
sensible  I  may  be  indebted  to  you,  sir.  For  the  rest,  it  is 
my  Refuge." 

"  They  say,  those  boastful  English,  that  it  is  the  Refuge 
of  many.  You  know  a  compatriot  who  has  found  a  Refuge 
there?     A  Doctor?" 

"Yes." 

"With  a  daughter?" 

"Yes." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Marquis.  "You  are  fatigued.  Good 
night ! " 

As  he  bent  his  head  in  his  most  courtly  manner,  there 
was  a  secrecy  in  his  smiling  face,  and  he  conveyed  an  air  of 
mystery  to  those  words,  which  struck  the  eyes  and  ears  of 
his  nephew  forcibly.  At  the  same  time,  the  thin  straight 
lines  of  the  setting  of  the  eyes,  and  the  thin  straight  lips, 
and  the  markings  in  the  nose,  curved  with  a  sarcasm  that 
looked  handsomely  diabolic. 

"Yes,"  repeated  the  Marquis.  "A  Doctor  with  a  daugh- 
ter. Yes.  So  commences  the  new  philosophy!  You  are 
fatigued.     Good  night!  " 

It  would  have  been  of  as  much  avail  to  interrogate  any 
stone  face  outside  the  chateau  as  to  interrogate  that  face  of 
his.  The  nephew  looked  at  him,  in  vain,  in  passing  on  to 
the  door. 


A  TALE   OF   TWO  CITIES.  147 

"Goodnight!"  said  the  uncle.  "I  look  to  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  again  in  the  morning.  Good  repose !  Light 
Monsieur  my  nephew  to  his  chamber  there!  —  And  burn 
Monsieur  my  nephew  in  his  bed,  if  you  will,"  he  added  to 
himself,  before  he  rang  his  little  bell  again,  and  summoned 
his  valet  to  his  own  bedroom. 

The  valet  come  and  gone,  Monsieur  the  Marquis  walked 
to  and  fro  in  his  loose  chamber-robe,  to  prepare  himself 
gently  for  sleep,  that  hot  still  night.  Eustling  about  the 
room,  his  softly-slippered  feet  making  no  noise  on  the  floor, 
he  moved  like  a  refined  tiger :  —  looked  like  some  enchanted 
marquis  of  the  impenitently  wicked  sort,  in  story,  whose 
periodical  change  into  tiger  form  was  either  just  going  off, 
or  just  coming  on. 

He  moved  from  end  to  end  of  his  voluptuous  bedroom, 
looking  again  at  the  scraps  of  the  day's  journey  that  came 
unbidden  into  his  mind ;  the  slow  toil  up  the  hill  at  sunset, 
the  setting  sun,  the  descent,  the  mill,  the  prison  on  the 
crag,  the  little  village  in  the  hollow,  the  peasants  at  the 
fountain,  and  the  mender  of  roads  with  his  blue  cap  point- 
ing out  the  chain  under  the  carriage.  That  fountain  sug- 
gested the  Paris  fountain,  the  little  bundle  lying  on  the 
step,  the  women  bending  over  it,  and  the  tall  man  with  his 
arms  up,  crying,  "Dead!  " 

"I  am  cool  now,"  said  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  "and  may 
go  to  bed." 

So,  leaving  only  one  light  burning  on  the  large  hearth,  he 
let  his  thin  gauze  curtains  fall  around  him,  and  heard  the 
night  break  its  silence  with  a  long  sigh  as  he  composed 
himself  to  sleep. 

The  stone  faces  on  the  outer  walls  stared  blindly  at  the 
black  night  for  three  heavy  hours ;  for  three  heavy  hours, 
the  horses  in  the  stables  rattled  at  their  racks,  the  dogs 
barked,  and  the  owl  made  a  noise  with  very  little  resem- 


148  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

blance  in  it  to  the  noise  conventionally  assigned  to  the  owl 
by  men-poets.  But,  it  is  the  obstinate  custom  of  such  crea- 
tures hardly  ever  to  say  what  is  set  down  for  them. 

For  three  heavy  hours,  the  stone  faces  of  the  chateau,  lion 
and  human,  stared  blindly  at  the  night.  Dead  darkness  lay 
on  all  the  landscape,  dead  darkness  added  its  own  hush  to 
the  hushing  dust  on  all  the  roads.  The  burial-place  had 
got  to  the  pass  that  its  little  heaps  of  poor  grass  were  undis- 
tinguishable  from  one  another;  the  figure  on  the  Cross 
might  have  come  down,  for  anything  that  could  be  seen  of 
it.  In  the  village,  taxers  and  taxed  were  fast  asleep. 
Dreaming,  perhaps,  of  banquets,  as  the  starved  usually  do, 
and  of  ease  and  rest,  as  the  driven  slave  and  the  yoked  ox 
may,  its  lean  inhabitants  slept  soundly,  and  were  fed  and 
freed. 

The  fountain  in  the  village  flowed  unseen  and  unheard, 
and  the  fountain  at  the  chateau  dropped  unseen  and  unheard 
—  both  melting  away,  like  the  minutes  that  were  falling 
from  the  spring  of  Time  —  through  three  dark  hours. 
Then,  the  grey  water  of  both  began  to  be  ghostly  in  the 
light,  and  the  eyes  of  the  stone  faces  of  the  chateau  were 
opened. 

Lighter  and  lighter,  until  at  last  the  sun  touched  the  tops 
of  the  still  trees,  and  poured  its  radiance  over  the  hill.  In 
the  glow,  the  water  of  the  chateau  fountain  seemed  to  turn 
to  blood,  and  the  stone  faces  crimsoned.  The  carol  of  the 
birds  was  loud  and  high,  and,  on  the  weather-beaten  sill  of 
the  great  window  of  the  bed-chamber  of  Monsieur  the  Mar- 
quis, one  little  bird  sang  its  sweetest  song  with  all  its 
might.  At  this,  the  nearest  stone  face  seemed  to  stare 
amazed,  and,  with  open  mouth  and  dropped  under-jaw, 
looked  awe-stricken. 

Now,  the  sun  was  full  up,  and  movement  began  in  the  vil- 
lage.   Casement  windows  opened,  crazy  doors  were  unbarred, 


A   TALE    OF    TWO   CITIES.  149 

and  people  came  forth  shivering  —  chilled,  as  yet,  by  the  . 
new  sweet  air.  Then  began  the  rarely  lightened  toil  of  the 
day  among  the  village  population.  Some,  to  the  fountain; 
some,  to  the  fields;  men  and  women  here,  to  dig  and  delve; 
men  and  women  there,  to  see  to  the  poor  live  stock,  and  lead 
the  bony  cows  out,  to  such  pasture  as  could  be  found  by  the 
roadside.  In  the  church  and  at  the  Cross,  a  kneeling  figure 
or  two;  attendant  on  the  latter  prayers,  the  led  cow,  trying 
for  a  breakfast  among  the  weeds  at  its  foot. 

The  chateau  awoke  later,  as  became  its  quality,  but  awoke 
gradually  and  surely.  First,  the  lonely  boar-spears  and 
knives  of  the  chase  had  been  reddened  as  of  old ;  then,  had 
gleamed  trenchant  in  the  morning  sunshine;  now,  doors  and 
windows  were  thrown  open,  horses  in  their  stables  looked 
round  over  their  shoulders  at  the  light  and  freshness  pouring 
in  at  doorways,  leaves  sparkled  and  rustled  at  iron-grated 
windows,  clogs  pulled  hard  at  their  chains,  and  reared 
impatient  to  be  loosed. 

All  these  trivial  incidents  belonged  to  the  routine  of  life, 
and  the  return  of  morning.  Surely,  not  so  the  ringing  of 
the  great  bell  of  the  chateau,  nor  the  running  up  and  down 
the  stairs,  nor  the  hurried  figures  on  the  terrace,  nor  the 
booting  and  tramping  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  nor 
the  quick  saddling  of  horses  and  riding  away? 

What  winds  conveyed  this  hurry  to  the  grizzled  mender 
of  roads,  already  at  work  on  the  hill-top  beyond  the  village, 
with  his  day's  dinner  (not  much  to  carry)  lying  in  a  bundle 
that  it  was  worth  no  crow's  while  to  peck  at,  on  a  heap  of 
stones?  Had  the  birds,  carrying  some  grains  of  it  to  a  dis- 
tance, dropped  one  over  him  as  they  sow  chance  seeds? 
Whether  or  no,  the  mender  of  roads  ran,  on  the  sultry 
morning,  as  if  for  his  life,  down  the  hill,  knee-high  in  dust, 
and  never  stopped  till  he  got  to  the  fountain. 

All  the  people  of  the  village  were  at  the  fountain,  stand- 


150  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

ing  about  in  their  depressed  manner,  and  whispering  low, 
but  showing  no  other  emotions  than  grim  curiosity  and 
surprise.  The  led  cows,  hastily  brought  in  and  tethered  to 
anything  that  would  hold  them,  were  looking  stupidly  on, 
or  lying  down  chewing  the  cud  of  nothing  particularly 
repaying  their  trouble,  which  they  had  picked  up  in  their 
interrupted  saunter.  Some  of  the  people  of  the  chateau, 
and  some  of  those  of  the  posting-house,  and  all  the  taxing 
authorities,  were  armed  more  or  less,  and  were  crowded  on 
the  other  side  of  the  little  street  in  a  purposeless  way,  that 
was  highly  fraught  with  nothing.  Already,  the  mender  of 
roads  had  penetrated  into  the  midst  of  a  group  of  fifty 
particular  friends,  and  was  smiting  himself  in  the  breast 
with  his  blue  cap.  What  did  all  this  portend,  and  what 
portended  the  swift  hoisting-up  of  Monsieur  Gabelle  behind 
a  servant  on  horseback,  and  the  conveying  away  of  the  said 
Gabelle  (double-laden  though  the  horse  was),  at  a  gallop, 
like  a  new  version  of  the  German  ballad  of  Leonora? 

It  portended  that  there  was  one  stone  face  too  many,  up 
at  the  chateau. 

The  Gorgon  had  surveyed  the  building  again  in  the  night, 
and  had  added  the  one  stone  face  wanting;  the  stone  face 
for  which  it  had  waited  through  about  two  hundred  years. 

It  lay  back  on  the  pillow  of  Monsieur  the  Marquis.  It 
was  like  a  fine  mask,  suddenly  startled,  made  angry,  and 
petrified.  Driven  home  into  the  heart  of  the  stone  figure 
attached  to  it,  was  a  knife.  Round  its  hilt  was  a  frill  of 
paper,  on  which  was  scrawled : 

"Drive  him  fast  to  his  tomb.     This,  from  Jacques." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  151 


CHAPTER   X. 

TWO    PROMISES. 

More  months,  to  the  number  of  twelve,  had  come  and 
gone,  and  Mr.  Charles  Darnay  was  established  in  England 
as  a  higher  teacher  of  the  French  language  who  was  con- 
versant with  French  literature.  In  this  age,  he  would 
have  been  a  Professor;  in  that  age,  he  was  a  Tutor.  He 
read  with  young  men  who  could  find  any  leisure  and  inter- 
est for  the  study  of  a  living  tongue  spoken  all  over  the 
world,  and  he  cultivated  a  taste  for  its  stores  of  knowledge 
and  fancy.  He  could  write  of  them,  besides,  in  sound 
English,  and  render  them  into  sound  English.  Such  mas- 
ters were  not  at  that  time  easily  found;  Princes  that  had 
been,  and  Kings  that  were  to  be,  were  not  yet  of  the 
Teacher  class,  and  no  ruined  nobility  had  dropped  out  of  Tell- 
son's  ledgers,  to  turn  cooks  and  carpenters.  As  a  tutor, 
whose  attainments  made  the  student's  way  unusually  pleas- 
ant and  profitable,  and  as  an  elegant  translator  who  brought 
something  to  his  work  besides  mere  dictionary  knowledge, 
young  Mr.  Darnay  soon  became  known  and  encouraged. 
He  was  well  acquainted,  moreover,  with  the  circumstances 
of  his  country,  and  those  were  of  ever-growing  interest. 
So,  with  great  perseverance  and  untiring  industry,  he  pros- 
pered. 

In  London,  he  had  expected  neither  to  walk  on  pave- 
ments of  gold,  nor  to  lie  on  beds  of  roses;  if  he  had  had 
any  such  exalted  expectation,  he  would  not  have  prospered. 
He  had  expected  labour,  and  he  found  it,  and  did  it,  and 
made  the  best  of  it.     In  this,  his  prosperity  consisted. 

A  certain  portion  of  his  time  was  passed  at  Cambridge, 


152  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

where  lie  read  with  undergraduates  as  a  sort  of  tolerated 
smuggler  who  drove  a  contraband  trade  in  European  lan- 
guages, instead  of  conveying  Greek  and  Latin  through  the 
Custom-house.     The  rest  of  his  time  he  passed  in  London. 

Now,  from  the  days  when  it  was  always  summer  in  Eden, 
to  these  days  when  it  is  mostly  winter  in  fallen  latitudes, 
the  world  of  a  man  has  invariably  gone  one  way  —  Charles 
Darnay's  way  —  the  way  of  the  love  of  a  woman. 

He  had  loved  Lucie  Manette  from  the  hour  of  his  danger. 
He  had  never  heard  a  sound  so  sweet  and  dear  as  the  sound 
of  her  compassionate  voice;  he  had  never  seen  a  face  so 
tenderly  beautiful,  as  hers  when  it  was  confronted  with 
his  own  on  the  edge  of  the  grave  that  had  been  dug  for 
him.  But,  he  had  not  yet  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject; 
the  assassination  at  the  deserted  chateau  far  away  beyond 
the  heaving  water  and  the  long,  long,  dusty  roads  —  the 
solid  stone  chateau  which  had  itself  become  the  mere  mist 
of  a  dream  —  had  been  done  a  year,  and  he  had  never  yet, 
by  so  much  as  a  single  spoken  word,  disclosed  to  her  the 
state  of  his  heart. 

That  he  had  his  reasons  for  this,  he  knew  full  well.  It 
was  again  a  summer  day  when,  lately  arrived  in  London 
from  his  college  occupation,  he  turned  into  the  quiet  corner 
in  Soho,  bent  on  seeking  an  opportunity  of  opening  his 
mind  to  Doctor  Manette.  It  was  the  close  of  the  summer 
day,  and  he  knew  Lucie  to  be  out  with  Miss  Pross. 

He  found  the  Doctor  reading  in  his  arm-chair  at  a  window. 
The  energy  which  had  at  once  supported  him  under  his  old 
sufferings  and  aggravated  their  sharpness,  had  been  gradu- 
ally restored  to  him.  He  was  now  a  very  energetic  man 
indeed,  with  great  firmness  of  purpose,  strength  of  resolu- 
tion, and  vigour  of  action.  In  his  recovered  energy  he  was 
sometimes  a  little  fitful  and  sudden,  as  he  had  at  first  been 
in  the  exercise  of  his  other  recovered  faculties;  but,  this 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  153 

had  never  been  frequently  observable,  and  bad  grown  more 
and  more  rare. 

He  studied  much,  slept  little,  sustained  a  great  deal  of 
fatigue  with  ease,  and  was  equably  cheerful.  To  him,  now 
entered  Charles  Darnay,  at  sight  of  whom  he  laid  aside  his 
book  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Charles  Darnay!  I  rejoice  to  see  you.  We  have  been 
counting  on  your  return  these  three  or  four  days  past. 
Mr.  Stryver  and  Sydney  Carton  were  both  here  yesterday, 
and  both  made  you  out  to  be  more  than  due." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  them  for  their  interest  in  the  matter, " 
he  answered,  a  little  coldly  as  to  them,  though  very  warmly 
as  to  the  Doctor.     "  Miss  Manette " 

"Is  well,"  said  the  Doctor,  as  he  stopped  short,  "and 
your  return  will  delight  us  all.  She  has  gone  out  on  some 
household  matters,  but  will  soon  be  home." 

"Doctor  Manette,  I  knew  she  was  from  home.  I  took 
the  opportunity  of  her  being  from  home,  to  beg  to  speak  to 
you." 

There  was  a  blank  silence. 

"  Yes?  "  said  the  Doctor,  with  evident  constraint.  "  Bring 
your  chair  here,  and  speak  on." 

He  complied  as  to  the  chair,  but  appeared  to  find  the 
speaking  on  less  easy. 

"  I  have  had  the  happiness,  Doctor  Manette,  of  being  so 
intimate  here,"  so  he  at  length  began,  "for  some  year  and 
a  half,  that  I  hope  the  topic  on  which  I  am  about  to  touch 
may  not " 

He  was  stayed  by  the  Doctor's  putting  out  his  hand  to 
stop  him.  When  he  had  kept  it  so  a  little  while,  he  said, 
drawing  it  back : 

"Is  Lucie  the  topic?" 

"She  is." 

"It  is  hard  for  me  to  speak  of  her,  at  any  time.     It  is 


154  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

very  hard  for  me  to  hear  her  spoken  of  in  that  tone  of 
yours,  Charles  Darnay." 

"It  is  a  tone  of  fervent  admiration,  true  homage  and 
deep  love,  Doctor  Manette !  "  he  said,  deferentially. 

There  was  another  blank  silence  before  her  father  re- 
joined : 

"I  believe  it.     I  do  you  justice;  I  believe  it." 

His  constraint  was  so  manifest,  and  it  was  so  manifest, 
too,  that  it  originated  in  an  unwillingness  to  approach  the 
subject,  that  Charles  Darnay  hesitated. 

"Shall  I  go  on,  sir?" 

Another  blank. 

"Yes,  go  on." 

"You  anticipate  what  I  would  say,  though  you  cannot 
know  how  earnestly  I  say  it,  how  earnestly  I  feel  it,  with- 
out knowing  my  secret  heart,  and  the  hopes  and  fears  and 
anxieties  with  which  it  has  long  been  laden.  Dear  Doc- 
tor Manette,  I  love  your  daughter  fondly,  dearly,  disinter- 
estedly, devotedly.  If  ever  there  were  love  in  the  world, 
I  love  her.  You  have  loved  yourself;  let  your  old  love 
speak  for  me !  " 

The  Doctor  sat  with  his  face  turned  away,  and  his  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground.  At  the  last  words,  he  stretched  out 
his  hand  again,  hurriedly,  and  cried : 

"  Not  that,  sir !  Let  that  be !  I  adjure  you,  do  not  recall 
that!" 

His  cry  was  so  like  a  cry  of  actual  pain,  that  it  rang  in 
Charles  Darnay 's  ears  long  after  he  had  ceased.  He 
motioned  with  the  hand  he  had  extended,  and  it  seemed 
to  be  an  appeal  to  Darnay  to  pause.  The  latter  so  received 
it,  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon, "  said  the  Doctor,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
after  some  moments.  "I  do  not  doubt  your  loving  Lucie; 
you  may  be  satisfied  of  it." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  155 

He  turned  towards  him  in  his  chair,  but  did  not  look  at 
him,  or  raise  his  eyes.  His  chin  dropped  upon  his  hand, 
and  his  white  hair  overshadowed  his  face : 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  Lucie?  " 

"No." 

"Nor  written?" 

"Never." 

"  It  would  be  ungenerous  to  affect  not  to  know  that  your 
self-denial  is  to  be  referred  to  your  consideration  for  her 
father.     Her  father  thanks  you." 

He  offered  his  hand;  but,  his  eyes  did  not  go  with  it. 

"I  know,"  said  Darnay,  respectfully,  "how  can  I  fail  to 
know,  Doctor  Manette,  I  who  have  seen  you  together  from 
day  to  day,  that  between  you  and  Miss  Manette  there  is  an 
affection  so  unusual,  so  touching,  so  belonging  to  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  it  has  been  nurtured,  that  it  can  have 
few  parallels,  even  in  the  tenderness  between  a  father  and 
child.  I  know,  Doctor  Manette  —  how  can  I  fail  to  know 
—  that,  mingled  with  the  affection  and  duty  of  a  daughter 
who  has  become  a  woman,  there  is,  in  her  heart  towards 
you,  all  the  love  and  reliance  of  infancy  itself.  I  know 
that,  as  in  her  childhood  she  had  no  parent,  so  she  is  now 
devoted  to  you  with  all  the  constancy  and  fervour  of  her 
present  years  and  character,  united  to  the  trustfulness  and 
attachment  of  the  early  days  in  which  you  were  lost  to  her. 
I  know  perfectly  well  that  if  you  had  been  restored  to  her 
from  the  world  beyond  this  life,  you  could  hardly  be  in- 
vested, in  her  sight,  with  a  more  sacred  character  than  that 
in  which  you  are  always  with  her.  I  know  that  when  she 
is  clinging  to  you,  the  hands  of  baby,  girl,  and  woman, 
all  in  one,  are  round  your  neck.  I  know  that  in  loving  you 
she  sees  and  loves  her  mother  at  her  own  age,  sees  and 
loves  you  at  my  age,  loves  her  mother  broken-hearted, 
loves  you  through  your  dreadful  trial  and  in  your  blessed 


156  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

restoration.     I   have  known   this,  night  and  day,  since  I 
have  known  you  in  your  home." 

Her  father  sat  silent,  with  his  face  bent  down.  His 
breathing  was  a  little  quickened ;  but  he  repressed  all  other 
signs  of  agitation. 

"Dear  Doctor  Manette,  always  knowing  this,  always 
seeing  her  and  you  with  this  hallowed  light  about  you,  I 
have  forborne,  and  forborne,  as  long  as  it  was  in  the  nature 
of  man  to  do  it.  I  have  felt,  and  do  even  now  feel,  that  to 
bring  my  love  —  even  mine  —  between  you,  is  to  touch 
your  history  with  something  not  quite  so  good  as  itself. 
But  I  love  her.  Heaven  is  my  witness  that  I  love 
her!" 

"I  believe  it,"  answered  her  father,  mournfully.  "I 
have  thought  so,  before  now.     I  believe  it." 

"But,  do  not  believe,"  said  Darnay,  upon  whose  ear  the 
mournful  voice  struck  with  a  reproachful  sound,  "that  if 
my  fortune  were  so  cast  as  that,  being  one  day  so  happy  as 
to  make  her  my  wife,  I  must  at  any  time  put  any  separation 
between  her  and  you,  I  could  or  would  breathe  a  word  of 
what  I  now  say.  Besides  that  I  should  know.it  to  be  hope- 
less, I  should  know  it  to  be  a  baseness.  If  I  had  any  such 
possibility,  even  at  a  remote  distance  of  years,  harboured 
in  my  thoughts  and  hidden  in  my  heart  —  if  it  ever  had 
been  there  —  if  it  ever  could  be  there  —  I  could  not  now 
touch  this  honoured  hand." 

He  laid  his  own  upon  it  as  he  spoke. 

"No,  dear  Doctor  Manette.  Like  you,  a  voluntary  exile 
from  France;  like  you,  driven  from  it  by  its  distractions, 
oppressions,  and  miseries ;  like  you,  striving  to  live  away 
from  it  by  my  own  exertions,  and  trusting  in  a  happier 
future ;  I  look  only  to  sharing  your  fortunes,  sharing  your 
life  and  home,  and  being  faithful  to  you  to  the  death.  Not 
to  divide  with  Lucie  her  privilege  as  your  child,  compan- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  157 

ion,  and  friend;  but  to  come  in  aid  of  it,  and  bind  her 
closer  to  you,  if  such  a  thing  can  be." 

His  touch  still  lingered  on  her  father's  hand.  Answer- 
ing the  touch  for  a  moment,  but  not  coldly,  her  father 
rested  his  hands  upon  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  looked  up 
for  the  first  time  since  the  beginning  of  the  conference.  A 
struggle  was  evidently  in  his  face;  a  struggle  with  that 
occasional  look  which  had  a  tendency  in  it  to  dark  doubt 
and  dread. 

"  You  speak  so  feelingly  and  so  manfully,  Charles  Darnay, 
that  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,  and  will  open  all  my 
heart  —  or  nearly  so.  Have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that 
Lucie  loves  you?" 

"None.     As  yet,  none." 

"  Is  it  the  immediate  object  of  this  confidence,  that  you 
may  at  once  ascertain  that,  with  my  knowledge?" 

"Not  even  so.  I  might  not  have  the  hopefulness  to  do 
it  for  weeks.  I  might  (mistaken  or  not  mistaken)  have 
that  hopefulness  to-morrow." 

"Do  you  seek  any  guidance  from  me?  " 

"I  ask  none,  sir.  But  I  have  thought  it  possible  that 
you  might  have  it  in  your  power,  if  you  should  deem  it 
right,  to  give  me  some." 

"Do  you  seek  any  promise  from  me?" 

"I  do  seek  that." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  well  understand  that,  without  you,  I  could  have  no 
hope.  I  well  understand  that,  even  if  Miss  Manette  held 
me  at  this  moment  in  her  innocent  heart  —  do  not  think  I 
have  the  presumption  to  assume  so  much  —  I  could  retain 
no  place  in  it  against  her  love  for  her  father." 

"If  that  be  so,  do  you  see  what,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
involved  in  it?" 

"  I  understand  equally  well,  that  a  word  from  her  father 


158  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

in  any  suitor's  favour,  would  outweigh  herself  and  all  the 
world.  For  which  reason,  Doctor  Manette,"  said  Darnay, 
modestly  but  firmly,  "  I  would  not  ask  that  word,  to  save 
my  life." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Charles  Darnay,  mysteries  arise  out 
of  close  love,  as  well  as  out  of  wide  division ;  in  the  former 
case,  they  are  subtle  and  delicate,  and  difficult  to  penetrate. 
My  daughter  Lucie  is,  in  this  one  respect,  such  a  mystery 
to  me;  I  can  make  no  guess  at  the  state  of  her  heart." 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,  if  you  think  she  is "  As  he  hesi- 
tated, her  father  supplied  the  rest. 

"Is  sought  by  any  other  suitor?" 

"It  is  what  I  meant  to  say." 

Her  father  considered  a  little  before  he  answered : 

"  You  have  seen  Mr.  Carton  here,  yourself.  Mr.  Stry ver 
is  here  too,  occasionally.  If  it  be  at  all,  it  can  only  be  by 
one  of  these." 

"Or  both,"  said  Darnay. 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  both ;  I  should  not  think  either, 
likely.    You  want  a  promise  from  me.    Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  It  is,  that  if  Miss  Manette  should  bring  to  you  at  any 
time,  on  her  own  part,  such  a  confidence  as  I  have  ven- 
tured to  lay  before  you,  you  will  bear  testimony  to  what  I 
have  said,  and  to  your  belief  in  it.  I  hope  you  may  be  able 
to  think  so  well  of  me,  as  to  urge  no  influence  against  me. 
I  say  nothing  more  of  my  stake  in  this ;  this  is  what  I  ask. 
The  condition  on  which  I  ask  it,  and  which  you  have  an 
undoubted  right  to  require,  I  will  observe  immediately." 

"I  give  the  promise,"  said  the  Doctor,  "without  any  con- 
dition. I  believe  your  object  to  be,  purely  and  truthfully, 
as  you  have  stated  it.  I  believe  your  intention  is  to  per- 
petuate, and  not  to  weaken,  the  ties  between  me  and  my 
other  and  far  dearer  self.  If  she  should  ever  tell  me 
that  you  are  essential  to  her  perfect  happiness,  I  will  give 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  159 

her   to    you.      If  there  were  —  Charles  Darnay,   if  there 
were " 

The  young  man  had  taken  his  hand  gratefully;  their 
hands  were  joined  as  the  Doctor  spoke : 

"  —  any  fancies,  any  reasons,  any  apprehensions,  any- 
thing whatsoever,  new  or  old,  against  the  man  she  really 
loved  —  the  direct  responsibility  thereof  not  lying  on  his 
head  —  they  should  all  be  obliterated  for  her  sake.  She  is 
everything  to  me;  more  to  me  than  suffering,  more  to  me 
than  wrong,  more  to  me Well!     This  is  idle  talk." 

So  strange  was  the  way  in  which  he  faded  into  silence, 
and  so  strange  his  fixed  look  when  he  had  ceased  to  speak,, 
that  Darnay  felt  his  own  hand  turn  cold  in  the  hand  that 
slowly  released  and  dropped  it. 

"You  said  something  to  me,"  said  Doctor  Manette,  break- 
ing into  a  smile.     "  What  was  it  you  said  to  me?  " 

He  was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer,  until  he  remembered 
having  spoken  of  a  condition.  Relieved  as  his  mind  re- 
verted to  that,  he  answered: 

"  Your  confidence  in  me  ought  to  be  returned  with  full 
confidence  on  my  part.  My  present  name,  though  but 
slightly  changed  from  my  mother's,  is  not,  as  you  will  re- 
member, my  own.  I  wish  to  tell  you  what  that  is,  and 
why  I  am  in  England." 

"Stop!  "  said  the  Doctor  of  Beauvais. 

"  I  wish  it,  that  I  may  the  better  deserve  your  confidence, 
and  have  no  secret  from  you." 

"Stop!" 

For  an  instant,  the  Doctor  even  had  his  two  hands  at  his 
ears ;  for  another  instant,  even  had  his  two  hands  laid  on 
Darnay 's  lips. 

"  Tell  me  when  I  ask  you,  not  now.  If  your  suit  should 
prosper,  if  Lucie  should  love  you,  you  shall  tell  me  on  your 
marriage  morning.     Do  you  promise?" 


160  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Willingly." 

"  Give  me  your  hand.  She  will  be  home  directly,  and  it 
is  better  she  should  not  see  us  together  to-night.  Go! 
God  bless  you !  " 

It  was  dark  when  Charles  Darnay  left  him,  and  it  was  an 
hour  later  and  darker  when  Lucie  came  home;  she  hurried 
into  the  room  alone  —  for  Miss  Pross  had  gone  straight  up- 
stairs —  and  was  surprised  to  find  his  reading-chair  empty. 

"My  father!  "  she  called  to  him.     "Father  dear!  " 

Nothing  was  said  in  answer,  but  she  heard  a  low  hammer- 
ing sound  in  his  bedroom.  Passing  lightly  across  the  inter- 
mediate room,  she  looked  in  at  his  door  and  came  running 
back  frightened,  crying  to  herself,  with  her  blood  all  chilled, 
"  What  shall  I  do !     What  shall  I  do !  " 

Her  uncertainty  lasted  but  a  moment;  she  hurried  back, 
and  tapped  at  his  door,  and  softly  called  to  him.  The  noise 
ceased  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  he  presently  came  out 
to  her,  and  they  walked  up  and  down  together  for  a  long 
time. 

She  came  down  from  her  bed,  to  look  at  him  in  his  sleep 
that  night.  He  slept  heavily,  and  his  tray  of  shoemaking 
tools,  and  his  old  unfinished  work,  were  all  as  usual. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

A    COMPANION    PICTURE. 


"Sydney,"  said  Mr.  Stryver,  on  that  self -same  night,  or 
morning,  to  his  jackal;  "mix  another  bowl  of  punch;  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Sydney  had  been  working  double  tides  that  night,  and  the 
night  before,  and  the  night  before  that,  and  a  good  many 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  161 

nights  in  succession,  making  a  grand  clearance  among  Mr. 
Stryver's  papers  before  the  setting  in  of  the  long  vacation. 
The  clearance  was  effected  at  last ;  the  Stry ver  arrears  were 
handsomely  fetched  up;  everything  was  got  rid  of  until 
November  should  come  with  its  fogs  atmospheric  and  fogs 
legal,  and  bring  grist  to  the  mill  again. 

Sydney  was  none  the  livelier  and  none  the  soberer  for 
so  much  application.  It  had  taken  a  deal  of  extra  wet- 
towelling  to  pull  him  through  the  night;  a  correspondingly 
extra  quantity  of  wine  had  preceded  the  towelling;  and  he 
was  in  a  very  damaged  condition,  as  he  now  pulled  his 
turban  off  and  threw  it  into  the  basin  in  which  he  had 
steeped  it  at  intervals  for  the  last  six  hours. 

"  Are  you  mixing  that  other  bowl  of  punch?  "  said  Stry  ver 
the  portly,  with  his  hands  in  his  waistband,  glancing  round 
from  the  sofa  where  he  lay  on  his  back. 

"lam." 

"Now,  look  here!  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that 
will  rather  surprise  you,  and  that  perhaps  will  make  you 
think  me  not  quite  as  shrewd  as  you  usually  do  think  me. 
I  intend  to  marry." 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes.     And  not  for  money.     What  do  you  say  now?" 

"I  don't  feel  disposed  to  say  much.     Who  is  she?" 

"Guess." 

"Do  I  know  her?" 

"Guess." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  guess,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
with  my  brains  frying  and  sputtering  in  my  head.  If  you 
want  me  to  guess,  you  must  ask  me  to  dinner." 

"Well  then,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Stryver,  coming  slowly 
into  a  sitting  posture.  "  Sydney,  I  rather  despair  of  making 
myself  intelligible  to  you,  because  you  are  such  an  insensi- 
ble dog." 

M 


162  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  And  you, "  returned  Sydney,  busy  concocting  the  punch, 
"are  such  a  sensitive  and  poetical  spirit." 

"Come!  "  rejoined  Stryver,  laughing  boastfully,  "though 
I  don't  prefer  any  claim  to  being  the  soul  of  Eomance  (for 
I  hope  I  know  better),  still,  I  am  a  tenderer  sort  of  fellow 
than  you." 

"You  are  a  luckier,  if  you  mean  that." 

"  I  don't  mean  that.     I  mean,  I  am  a  man  of  more 

more " 

"  Say  gallantry,  while  you  are  about  it,"  suggested  Carton. 

"Well!  I'll  say  gallantry.  My  meaning  is,  that  I  am  a 
man,"  said  Stryver,  inflating  himself  at  his  friend  as  he 
made  the  punch,  "who  cares  more  to  be  agreeable,  who 
takes  more  pains  to  be  agreeable,  who  knows  better  how 
to  be  agreeable,  in  a  woman's  society,  than  you  do." 

"Go  on,"  said  Sydney  Carton. 

"  No ;  but  before  I  go  on, "  said  Stryver,  shaking  his  head 
in  his  bullying  way,  "  I'll  have  this  out  with  you.  You  have 
been  at  Doctor  Manette's  house  as  much  as  I  have,  or  more 
than  I  have.  Why,  I  have  been  ashamed  of  your  morose- 
ness  there!  Your  manners  have  been  of  that  silent  and 
sullen  and  hang-dog  kind,  that,  upon  my  life  and  soul,  I 
have  been  ashamed  of  you,  Sydney !  " 

"  It  should  be  very  beneficial  to  a  man  in  your  practice  at 
the  bar,  to  be  ashamed  of  anything,"  returned  Sydney; 
"you  ought  to  be  much  obliged  to  me." 

"You  shall  not  get  off  in  that  way,"  rejoined  Stryver, 
shouldering  the  rejoinder  at  him;  "no,  Sydney,  it's  my  duty 
to  tell  you  —  and  I  tell  you  to  your  face  to  do  you  good  — 
that  you  are  a  de-vilish  ill-conditioned  fellow  in  that  sort 
of  society.     You  are  a  disagreeable  fellow." 

Sydney  drank  a  bumper  of  the  punch  he  had  made,  and 
laughed. 

"Look  at  me!  "  said  Stryver,  squaring  himself;  "I  have 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  163 

less  need  to  make  myself  agreeable  than  you  have,  being 
more  independent  in  circumstances.     Why  do  I  do  it?  " 

"I  never  saw  you  do  it  yet,"  muttered  Carton. 

"I  do  it  because  it's  politic;  I  do  it  on  principle.  And 
look  at  me!     I  get  on." 

"  You  don't  get  on  with  your  account  of  your  matrimonial 
intentions,"  answered  Carton,  with  a  careless  air;  "I  wish 
you  would  keep  to  that.  As  to  me  —  will  you  never  under- 
stand that  I  am  incorrigible?" 

He  asked  the  question  with  some  appearance  of  scorn. 

"You  have  no  business  to  be  incorrigible,"  was  his 
friend's  answer,  delivered  in  no  very  soothing  tone. 

"I  have  no  business  to  be,  at  all,  that  I  know  of,"  said 
Sydney  Carton.     "Who  is  the  lady?" 

"  Now,  don't  let  my  announcement  of  the  name  make  you 
uncomfortable,  Sydney,"  said  Mr.  Stryver,  preparing  him 
with  ostentatious  friendliness  for  the  disclosure  he  was 
about  to  make,  "because  I  know  you  don't  mean  half  you 
say ;  and  if  you  meant  it  all,  it  would  be  of  no  importance. 
I  make  this  little  preface,  because  you  once  mentioned  the 
young  lady  to  me  in  slighting  terms." 

"I  did?" 

"Certainly;  and  in  these  chambers." 

Sydney  Carton  looked  at  his  punch  and  looked  at  his  com- 
placent friend;  drank  his  punch  and  looked  at  his  compla- 
cent friend. 

"  You  made  mention  of  the  young  lady  as  a  golden-haired 
doll.  The  young  lady  is  Miss  Manette.  If  you  had  been  a 
fellow  of  any  sensitiveness  or  delicacy  of  feeling  in  that 
kind  of  way,  Sydney,  I  might  have  been  a  little  resentful 
of  your  employing  such  a  designation;  but  you  are  not. 
You  want  that  sense  altogether;  therefore,  I  am  no  more 
annoyed  when  I  think  of  the  expression,  than  I  should  be 
annoyed  by  a  man's  opinion  of  a  picture  of  mine,  who  had 


164  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

no  eye  for  pictures;  or  of  a  piece  of  music  of  mine,  who 
had  no  ear  for  music." 

Sydney  Carton  drank  the  punch  at  a  great  rate ;  drank  it 
by  bumpers,  looking  at  his  friend. 

"  Now  you  know  all  about  it,  Syd,"  said  Mr.  Stryver.  "  I 
don't  care  about  fortune :  she  is  a  charming  creature,  and  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  please  myself:  on  the  whole, 
I  think  I  can  afford  to  please  myself.  She  will  have  in  me 
a  man  already  pretty  well  off,  and  a  rapidly  rising  man,  and 
a  man  of  some  distinction :  it  is  a  piece  of  good  fortune  for 
her,  but  she  is  worthy  of  good  fortune.    Are  you  astonished? " 

Carton,  still  drinking  the  punch,  rejoined,  "  Why  should 
I  be  astonished?" 

"You  approve?" 

Carton,  still  drinking  the  punch,  rejoined,  "  Why  should 
I  not  approve?" 

"  Well !  "  said  his  friend  Stryver,  "  you  take  it  more  easily 
than  I  fancied  you  would,  and  are  less  mercenary  on  my 
behalf  than  I  thought  you  would  be;  though,  to  be  sure, 
you  know  well  enough  by  this  time  that  your  ancient  chum 
is  a  man  of  a  pretty  strong  will.  Yes,  Sydney,  I  have  had 
enough  of  this  style  of  life,  with  no  other  as  a  change  from 
it;  I  feel  that  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  for  a  man  to  have  a 
home  when  he  feels  inclined  to  go  to  it  (when  he  doesn't, 
he  can  stay  away),  and  I  feel  that  Miss  Manette  will  tell 
well  in  any  station,  and  will  always  do  me  credit.  So  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.  And  now,  Sydney,  old  boy,  I  want 
to  say  a  word  to  you  about  your  prospects.  You  are  in  a 
bad  way,  you  know;  you  really  are  in  a  bad  way.  You 
don't  know  the  value  of  money,  you  live  hard,  you'll  knock 
up  one  of  these  days,  and  be  ill  and  poor;  you  really  ought 
to  think  about  a  nurse." 

The  prosperous  patronage  with  which  he  said  it,  made 
him  look  twice  as  big  as  he  was,  and  four  times  as  offensive. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  165 

"Now,  let  me  recommend  you,"  pursued  Stryver,  "to  look 
it  in  the  face.  I  have  looked  it  in  the  face,  in  my  different 
way;  look  it  in  the  face,  you,  in  your  different  way.  Marry. 
Provide  somebody  to  take  care  of  you.  Never  mind  your 
having  no  enjoyment  of  women's  society,  nor  understand- 
ing of  it,  nor  tact  for  it.  Find  out  somebody.  Find  out 
some  respectable  woman  with  a  little  property  —  somebody 
in  the  landlady  way,  or  lodging-letting  way  —  and  marry 
her,  against  a  rainy  day.  That's  the  kind  of  thing  for  you. 
Now  think  of  it,  Sydney." 

"I'll  think  of  it,"  said  Sydney. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE    FELLOW    OF    DELICACY. 


Mr.  Stryver  having  made  up  his  mind  to  that  magnani- 
mous bestowal  of  good  fortune  on  the  Doctor's  daughter, 
resolved  to  make  her  happiness  known  to  her  before  he  left 
town  for  the  Long  Vacation.  After  some  mental  debating 
of  the  point,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  as 
well  to  get  all  the  preliminaries  done  with,  and  they  could 
then  arrange  at  their  leisure  whether  he  should  give  her  his 
hand  a  week  or  two  before  Michaelmas  Term,  or  in  the 
little  Christmas  vacation  between  it  and  Hilary. 

As  to  the  strength  of  his  case,  he  had  not  a  doubt  about 
it,  but  clearly  saw  his  way  to  the  verdict.  Argued  with  the 
jury  on  substantial  worldly  grounds  —  the  only  grounds  ever 
worth  taking  into  account  —  it  was  a  plain  case,  and  had  not 
a  weak  spot  in  it.  He  called  himself  for  the  plaintiff,  there 
was  no  getting  over  his  evidence,  the  counsel  for  the 
defendant  threw  up  his  brief,  and  the  jury  did  not  even 


166  A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

turn  to  consider.  After  trying  it,  Stry ver  C.  J.  was  satisfied 
that  no  plainer  case  could  be. 

Accordingly,  Mr.  Stryver  inaugurated  the  Long  Vacation 
with  a  formal  proposal  to  take  Miss  Manette  to  Vauxhall 
Gardens;  that  failing,  to  Ranelagh;  that  unaccountably 
failing  too,  it  behoved  him  to  present  himself  in  Soho,  and 
there  declare  his  noble  mind. 

Towards  Soho,  therefore,  Mr.  Stryver  shouldered  his  way 
from  the  Temple,  while  the  bloom  of  the  Long  Vacation's 
infancy  was  still  upon  it.  Anybody  who  had  seen  him 
projecting  himself  into  Soho  while  he  was  yet  on  Saint 
Dunstan's  side  of  Temple  Bar,  bursting  in  his  full-blown 
way  along  the  pavement,  to  the  jostlement  of  all  weaker 
people,  might  have  seen  how  safe  and  strong  he  was. 

His  way  taking  him  past  Tellson's,  and  he  both  banking 
at  Tellson's,  and  knowing  Mr.  Lorry  as  the  intimate  friend 
of  the  Manettes,  it  entered  Mr.  Stryver's  mind  to  enter  the 
bank,  and  reveal  to  Mr.  Lorry  the  brightness  of  the  Soho 
horizon.  So,  he  pushed  open  the  door  with  the  weak  rattle 
in  its  throat,  stumbled  down  the  two  steps,  got  past  the  two 
ancient  cashiers,  and  shouldered  himself  into  the  musty 
back  closet  where  Mr.  Lorry  sat  at  great  books  ruled  for 
figures,  with  perpendicular  iron  bars  to  his  window  as  if 
that  were  ruled  for  figures  too,  and  everything  under  the 
clouds  were  a  sum. 

"Halloa!  "  said  Mr.  Stryver.  " How  do  you  do?  I  hope 
you  are  well !  " 

It  was  Stryver's  grand  peculiarity  that  he  always  seemed 
too  big  for  any  place,  or  space.  He  was  so  much  too  big  for 
Tellson's,  that  old  clerks  in  distant  corners  looked  up  with 
looks  of  remonstrance,  as  though  he  squeezed  them  against 
the  wall.  The  House  itself,  magnificently  reading  the  paper 
quite  in  the  far-off  perspective,  lowered  displeased,  as  if  the 
Stryver  head  had  been  butted  into  its  responsible  waistcoat. 


^M4myfr 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  167 

The  discreet  Mr.  Lorry  said,  in  a  sample  tone  of  the  voice 
he  would  recommend  under  the  circumstances,  "How  do 
you  do,  Mr.  Stryver?  How  do  you  do,  sir?"  and  shook 
hands.  There  was  a  peculiarity  in  his  manner  of  shaking 
hands,  always  to  be  seen  in  any  clerk  at  Tellson's  who 
shook  hands  with  a  customer  when  the  House  pervaded  the 
air.  He  shook  in  a  self -abnegating  way,  as  one  who  shook 
for  Tellson  and  Co. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mr.  Stryver?"  asked  Mr. 
Lorry,  in  his  business  character. 

"Why,  no  thank  you;  this  is  a  private  visit  to  yourself, 
Mr.  Lorry;  i  have  come  for  a  private  word." 

"Oh  indeed!"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  bending  down  his  ear, 
while  his  eye  strayed  to  the  House  afar  off. 

"I  am  going,"  said  Mr.  Stryver,  leaning  his  arms  confi- 
dentially on  the  desk :  whereupon,  although  it  was  a  large 
double  one,  there  appeared  to  be  not  half  desk  enough  for 
him :  "  I  am  going  to  make  an  offer  of  myself  in  marriage 
to  your  agreeable  little  friend  Miss  Manette,  Mr.  Lorry." 

"  Oh  dear  me ! "  cried  Mr.  Lorry,  rubbing  his  chin,  and 
looking  at  his  visitor  dubiously. 

"  Oh  dear  me,  sir?  "  repeated  Stryver,  drawing  back.  "  0h> 
dear  you,  sir?     What  may  your  meaning  be,  Mr.  Lorry?" 

"  My  meaning?  "  answered  the  man  of  business,  "  is,  of 
course,  friendly  and  appreciative,  and  that  it  does  you  the 
greatest  credit,  and  —  in  short,  my  meaning  is  everything 
you  could  desire.      But  —  really,  you  know,  Mr.  Stryver 

"  Mr.  Lorry  paused,  and  shook  his  head  at  him  in  the 

oddest  manner,  as  if  he  were  compelled  against  his  will  to 
add,  internally,  "  you  know  there  really  is  so  much  too  much 
of  you !  " 

"  Well !  "  said  Stryver,  slapping  the  desk  with  his  conten- 
tious hand,  opening  his  eyes  wider,  and  taking  a  long 
breath,  "if  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Lorry,  I'll  be  hanged!" 


168  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Mr.  Lorry  adjusted  his  little  wig  at  both  ears  as  a  means 
towards  that  end,  and  bit  the  feather  of  a  pen. 

"  D — n  it  all,  sir !  "  said  Stryver,  staring  at  him,  "  am  I 
not  eligible?" 

"  Oh  dear  yes !  Yes.  Oh  yes,  you're  eligible ! "  said 
Mr.  Lorry.     "If  you  say  eligible,  you  are  eligible." 

"Am  I  not  prosperous?"  asked  Stry  ver. 

"Oh!  if  you  come  to  prosperous,  you  are  prosperous," 
said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"And  advancing?" 

"  If  you  come  to  advancing,  you  know, "  said  Mr.  Lorry, 
delighted  to  be  able  to  make  another  admission,  "nobody 
can  doubt  that." 

"Then  what  on  earth  is  your  meaning,  Mr.  Lorry? " 
demanded  Stryver,  perceptibly  crestfallen. 

"Well!  I Were  you  going  there  now?"  asked  Mr. 

Lorry. 

"  Straight!  "  said  Stryver,  with  a  plump  of  his  fist  on  the 
desk. 

"Then  I  think  I  wouldn't,  if  I  was  you." 

"Why?  "  said  Stryver.  "Now,  I'll  put  you  in  a  corner," 
forensically  shaking  a  forefinger  at  him.  "  You  are  a  man 
of  business  and  bound  to  have  a  reason.  State  your  reason. 
Why  wouldn't  you  go?" 

"Because,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "I  wouldn't  go  on  such  an 
object  without  having  some  cause  to  believe  that  I  should 
succeed." 

"D — n  me!"  cried  Stryver,  "but  this  beats  everything." 

Mr.  Lorry  glanced  at  the  distant  House,  and  glanced  at 
the  angry  Stryver. 

"  Here's  a  man  of  business  —  a  man  of  years  —  a  man  of 
experience  —  in  a  Bank,"  said  Stryver;  "and  having 
summed  up  three  leading  reasons  for  complete  success,  he 
says  there's  no  reason  at  all!     Says  it  with  his  head  on!  " 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  169 

Mr.  Stryver  remarked  upon  the  peculiarity  as  if  it  would 
have  been  infinitely  less  remarkable  if  he  had  said  it  with 
his  head  off. 

"When  I  speak  of  success,  I  speak  of  success  with  the 
young  lady;  and  when  I  speak  of  causes  and  reasons  to 
make  success  probable,  I  speak  of  causes  and  reasons  that 
will  tell  as  such  with  the  young  lady.  The  young  lady,  my 
good  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  mildly  tapping  the  Stryver  arm, 
"the  young  lady.     The  young  lady  goes  before  all." 

"Then  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Lorry,"  said  Stryver, 
squaring  his  elbows,  "  that  it  is  your  deliberate  opinion  that 
the  young  lady  at  present  in  question  is  a  mincing  Fool?" 

"Not  exactly  so.  I  mean  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Stryver," 
said  Mr.  Lorry,  reddening,  "that  I  will  hear  no  disre- 
spectful word  of  that  young  lady  from  any  lips;  and  that 
if  I  knew  any  man  —  which  I  hope  I  do  not  —  whose  taste 
was  so  coarse,  and  whose  temper  was  so  overbearing,  that 
he  could  not  restrain  himself  from  speaking  disrespectfully 
of  that  young  lady  at  this  desk,  not  even  Tellson's  should 
prevent  my  giving  him  a  piece  of  my  mind." 

The  necessity  of  being  angry  in  a  suppressed  tone  had 
put  Mr.  Stryver' s  blood-vessels  into  a  dangerous  state  when 
it  was  his  turn  to  be  angry;  Mr.  Lorry's  veins,  methodical 
as  their  courses  could  usually  be,  were  in  no  better  state 
now  it  was  his  turn. 

"That  is  what  I  mean  to  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 
"Pray  let  there  be  no  mistake  about  it." 

Mr.  Stryver  sucked  the  end  of  a  ruler  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  stood  hitting  a  tune  out  of  his  teeth  with  it,  which 
probably  gave  him  the  toothache.  He  broke  the  awkward 
silence  by  saying: 

"  This  is  something  new  to  me,  Mr.  Lorry.  You  delib- 
erately advise  me  not  to  go  up  to  Soho  and  offer  myself  — 
myself,  Stryver  of  the  King's  Bench  bar?  " 


170  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Do  you  ask  me  for  my  advice,  Mr.  Stryver?" 

"Yes  I  do." 

"  Very  good.  Then  I  give  it,  and  you  have  repeated  it 
correctly." 

"And  all  I  can  say  of  it,  is,"  laughed  Stryver  with  a 
vexed  laugh,  "  that  this  —  ha,  ha !  —  beats  everything  past, 
present,  and  to  come." 

"Now  understand  me,"  pursued  Mr.  Lorry.  "As  a  man 
of  business,  I  am  not  justified  in  saying  anything  about 
this  matter,  for,  as  a  man  of  business,  I  know  nothing  of 
it.  But,  as  an  old  fellow,  who  has  carried  Miss  Manette 
in  his  arms,  who  is  the  trusted  friend  of  Miss  Manette  and 
of  her  father  too,  and  who  has  a  great  affection  for  them 
both,  I  have  spoken.  The  confidence  is  not  of  my  seeking, 
recollect.     Now,  you  think  I  may  not  be  right?" 

"Not  I!"  said  Stryver,  whistling.  "I  can't  undertake 
to  find  third  parties  in  common  sense;  I  can  only  find  it  for 
myself.  I  suppose  sense  in  certain  quarters;  you  suppose 
mincing  bread-and-butter  nonsense.  It's  new  to  me,  but 
you  are  right,  I  dare  say." 

"What  I  suppose,  Mr.  Stryver,  I  claim  to  characterise 
for  myself.  And  understand  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lorry, 
quickly  flushing  again.  "  I  will  not  —  not  even  at  Tell- 
son's  —  have  it  characterised  for  me  by  any  gentleman 
breathing." 

"  There !  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  said  Stryver. 

"  Granted.  Thank  you.  Well,  Mr.  Stryver,  I  was  about 
to  say :  —  it  might  be  painful  to  you  to  find  yourself  mis- 
taken, it  might  be  painful  to  Doctor  Manette  to  have  the 
task  of  being  explicit  with  you,  it  might  be  very  painful 
to  Miss  Manette  to  have  the  task  of  being  explicit  with  you. 
You  know  the  terms  upon  which  I  have  the  honour  and  hap- 
piness to  stand  with  the  family.  If  you  please,  committing 
you  in  no  way,  representing  you  in  no  way,  I  will  undertake 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  171 

to  correct  my  advice  by  the  exercise  of  a  little  new  observa- 
tion and  judgment  expressly  brought  to  bear  upon  it.  If 
you  should  then  be  dissatisfied  with  it,  you  can  but  test 
its  soundness  for  yourself;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  you  should 
be  satisfied  with  it,  and  it  should  be  what  it  now  is,  it  may 
spare  all  sides  what  is  best  spared.     What  do  you  say?" 

"How  long  would  you  keep  me  in  town?" 

"Oh!  It  is  only  a  question  of  a  few  hours.  I  could  go 
to  Soho  in  the  evening,  and  come  to  your  chambers  after- 
wards." 

"Then  I  say  yes,"  said  Stryver:  "I  won't  go  up  there 
now,  I  am  not  so  hot  upon  it  as  that  comes  to ;  I  say  yes, 
and  I  shall  expect  you  to  look  in  to-night.     Good  morning." 

Then  Mr.  Stryver  turned  and  burst  out  of  the  Bank, 
causing  such  a  concussion  of  air  on  his  passage  through, 
that  to  stand  up  against  it  bowing  behind  the  two  counters, 
required  the  utmost  remaining  strength  of  the  two  ancient 
clerks.  Those  venerable  and  feeble  persons  were  always 
seen  by  the  public  in  the  act  of  bowing,  and  were  popularly 
believed,  when  they  had  bowed  a  customer  out,  still  to  keep 
on  bowing  in  the  empty  office  until  they  bowed  another 
customer  in. 

The  barrister  was  keen  enough  to  divine  that  the  banker 
would  not  have  gone  so  far  in  his  expression  of  opinion  on 
any  less  solid  ground  than  moral  certainty.  Unprepared 
as  he  was  for  the  large  pill  he  had  to  swallow,  he  got  it 
down.  "And  now,"  said  Mr.  Stryver,  shaking  his  forensic 
forefinger  at  the  Temple  in  general,  when  it  was  down,  "  my 
way  out  of  this,  is,  to  put  you  all  in  the  wrong." 

It  was  a  bit  of  the  art  of  an  Old  Bailey  tactician,  in 
which  he  found  great  relief.  "  You  shall  not  put  me  in  the 
wrong,  young  lady, "  said  Mr.  Stryver ;  "  I'll  do  that  for  you." 

Accordingly,  when  Mr.  Lorry  called  that  night  as  late 
as  ten  o'clock,  Mr.  Stryver,  among  a  quantity  of  books  and 


172  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

papers  littered  out  for  the  purpose,  seemed  to  have  noth- 
ing less  on  his  mind  than  the  subject  of  the  morning. 
He  even  showed  surprise  when  he  saw  Mr.  Lorry,  and  was 
altogether  in  an  absent  and  preoccupied  state. 

"  Well ! "  said  that  good-natured  emissary,  after  a  full 
half-hour  of  bootless  attempts  to  bring  him  round  to  the 
question,  "I  have  been  to  Soho." 

"To  Soho?"  repeated  Mr.  Stryver,  coldly.  "Oh,  to  be 
sure !     What  am  I  thinking  of !  " 

"And  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "that  I  was 
right  in  the  conversation  we  had.  My  opinion  is  confirmed, 
and  I  reiterate  my  advice." 

"I  assure  you,"  returned  Mr.  Stryver,  in  the  friendliest 
way,  "  that  I  am  sorry  for  it  on  your  account,  and  sorry  for 
it  on  the  poor  father's  account.  I  know  this  must  always 
be  a  sore  subject  with  the  family;  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"I  dare  say  not,"  rejoined  Stryver,  nodding  his  head  in 
a  smoothing  and  final  way;  "no  matter,  no  matter." 

"But  it  does  matter,"  Mr.  Lorry  urged. 

"No  it  doesn't;  I  assure  you  it  doesn't.  Having  sup- 
posed that  there  was  sense  where  there  is  no  sense,  and  a 
laudable  ambition  where  there  is  not  a  laudable  ambition, 
I  am  well  out  of  my  mistake,  and  no  harm  is  done.  Young 
women  have  committed  similar  follies  often  before,  and 
have  repented  them  in  poverty  and  obscurity  often  before. 
In  an  unselfish  aspect,  I  am  sorry  that  the  thing  is  dropped, 
because  it  would  have  been  a  bad  thing  for  me  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view;  in  a  selfish  aspect,  I  am  glad  that  the  thing 
has  dropped,  because  it  would  have  been  a  bad  thing  for  me 
in  a  worldly  point  of  view  —  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say 
I  could  have  gained  nothing  by  it.  There  is  no  harm  at  all 
done.     I  have  not  proposed  to  the  young  lady,  and;  be- 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  173 

tween  ourselves,  I  am  by  no  means  certain,  on  reflection, 
that  I  ever  should  have  committed  myself  to  that  extent. 
Mr.  Lorry,  you  cannot  control  the  mincing  vanities  and 
giddinesses  of  empty-headed  girls;  you  must  not  expect 
to  do  it,  or  you  will  always  be  disappointed.  ISTow,  pray 
say  no  more  about  it.  I  tell  you,  I  regret  it  on  account  of 
others,  but  I  am  satisfied  on  my  own  account.  And  I  am 
really  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  allowing  me  to  sound 
you,  and  for  giving  me  your  advice;  you  know  the  young 
lady  better  than  I  do ;  you  were  right,  it  never  would  have 
done." 

Mr.  Lorry  was  so  taken  aback,  that  he  looked  quite 
stupidly  at  Mr.  Stryver  shouldering  him  towards  the  door, 
with  an  appearance  of  showering  generosity,  forbearance, 
and  good  will,  on  his  erring  head.  "  Make  the  best  of  it, 
my  dear  sir,"  said  Stryver;  "say  no  more  about  it;  thank 
you  again  for  allowing  me  to  sound  you;  good  night! ,: 

Mr.  Lorry  was  out  in  the  night,  before  he  knew  where 
he  was.  Mr.  Stryver  was  lying  back  on  his  sofa,  winking 
at  his  ceiling. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    FELLOW    OF    NO    DELICACY. 

If  Sydney  Carton  ever  shone  anywhere,  he  certainly 
never  shone  in  the  house  of  Doctor  Manette.  He  had  been 
there  often,  during  a  whole  year,  and  had  always  been  the 
same  moody  and  morose  lounger  there.  When  he  cared  to 
talk,  he  talked  well;  but,  the  cloud  of  caring  for  nothing, 
which  overshadowed  him  with  such  a  fatal  darkness,  was 
very  rarely  pierced  by  the  light  within  him. 

And  yet  he  did  care  something  for  the  streets  that  en- 
vironed that  house,  and  for  the  senseless  stones  that  made 


174  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

their  pavements.  Many  a  night  he  vaguely  and  unhappily 
wandered  there,  when  wine  had  brought  no  transitory  glad- 
ness to  him;  many  a  dreary  daybreak  revealed  his  solitary 
figure  lingering  there,  and  still  lingering  there  when  the 
first  beams  of  the  sun  brought  into  strong  relief,  removed 
beauties  of  architecture  in  spires  of  churches  and  lofty 
buildings,  as  perhaps  the  quiet  time  brought  some  sense 
of  better  things,  else  forgotten  and  unattainable,  into  his 
mind.  Of  late,  the  neglected  bed  in  the  Temple  court  had 
known  him  more  scantily  than  ever ;  and  often  when  he  had 
thrown  himself  upon  it  no  longer  than  a  few  minutes,  he 
had  got  up  again,  and  haunted  that  neighbourhood. 

On  a  day  in  August,  when  Mr.  Stryver  (after  notifying 
to  his  jackal  that  "  he  had  thought  better  of  that  marrying 
matter")  had  carried  his  delicacy  into  Devonshire,  and 
when  the  sight  and  scent  of  flowers  in  the  City  streets  had 
some  waifs  of  goodness  in  them  for  the  worst,  of  health  for 
the  sickliest,  and  of  youth  for  the  oldest,  Sydney's  feet  still 
trod  those  stones.  From  being  irresolute  and  purposeless, 
his  feet  became  animated  by  an  intention,  and,  in  the  work- 
ing out  of  that  intention,  they  took  him  to  the  Doctor's 
door. 

He  was  shown  up-stairs,  and  found  Lucie  at  her  work, 
alone.  She  had  never  been  quite  at  her  ease  with  him,  and 
received  him  with  some  little  embarrassment  as  he  seated 
himself  near  her  table.  But,  looking  up  at  his  face  in  the 
interchange  of  the  first  few  common-places,  she  observed 
a  change  in  it. 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  well,  Mr.  Carton !  " 

"No.  But  the  life  I  lead,  Miss  Manette,  is  not  condu- 
cive to  health.  What  is  to  be  expected  of,  or  by,  such 
profligates?" 

"  Is  it  not  —  forgive  me ;  I  have  begun  the  question  on 
my  lips  —  a  pity  to  live  no  better  life?  " 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  175 

"  God  knows  it  is  a  shame !  n 

"Then  why  not  change  it?" 

Looking  gently  at  him  again,  she  was  surprised  and 
saddened  to  see  that  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  There 
were  tears  in  his  voice  too,  as  he  answered: 

"It  is  too  late  for  that.  I  shall  never  be  better  than  I 
am.     I  shall  sink  lower,  and  be  worse." 

He  leaned  an  elbow  on  her  table,  and  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hand.  The  table  trembled  in  the  silence  that 
followed. 

She  had  never,  seen  him  softened,  and  was  much  dis- 
tressed. He  knew  her  to  be  so,  without  looking  at  her, 
and  said : 

"  Pray  forgive  me,  Miss  Manette.  I  break  down  before 
the  knowledge  of  what  I  want  to  say  to  you.  Will  you 
hear  me?" 

"  If  it  will  do  you  any  good.  Mr.  Carton,  if  it  would 
make  you  happier,  it  would  make  me  very  glad ! ' 

"  God  bless  you  for  your  sweet  compassion !  " 

He  unshaded  his  face  after  a  little  while,  and  spoke 
steadily. 

"Don't  be  afraid  to  hear  me.  Don't  shrink  from  any- 
thing I  say.  I  am  like  one  who  died  young.  All  1113'  life 
might  have  been." 

"No,  Mr.  Carton.  I  am  sure  that  the  best  part  of  it 
might  still  be;  I  am  sure  that  you  might  be  much,  much, 
worthier  of  yourself." 

"  Say  of  you,  Miss  Manette,  and  although  I  know  better 
—  although  in  the  mystery  of  my  own  wretched  heart  I 
know  better  —  I  shall  never  forget  it !  " 

She  was  pale  and  trembling.  He  came  to  her  relief  with 
a  fixed  despair  of  himself  which  made  the  interview  unlike 
any  other  that  could  have  been  holden. 

"If  it  had  been  possible,  Miss  Manette,  that  you  could 


176  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

have  returned  the  love  of  the  man  you  see  before  you  — 
self -flung  away,  wasted,  drunken,  poor  creature  of  misuse 
as  you  know  him  to  be  —  he  would  have  been  conscious  this 
day  and  hour,  in  spite  of  his  happiness,  that  he  would 
bring  you  to  misery,  bring  you  to  sorrow  and  repentance, 
blight  you,  disgrace  you,  pull  you  down  with  him.  I  know 
very  well  that  you  can  have  no  tenderness  for  me ;  I  ask 
for  none;  I  am  even  thankful  that  it  cannot  be." 

"Without  it,  can  I  not  save  you,  Mr.  Carton?  Can  I 
not  recall  you  —  forgive  me  again !  —  to  a  better  course ! 
Can  I  in  no  way  repay  your  confidence?  .  I  know  this  is  a 
confidence,"  she  modestly  said,  after  a  little  hesitation,  and 
in  earnest  tears,  "I  know  you  would  say  this  to  no  one  else. 
Can  I  turn  it  to  no  good  account  for  yourself,  Mr.  Carton?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  To  none.  No,  Miss  Manette,  to  none.  If  you  will  hear 
me  through  a  very  little  more,  all  you  can  ever  do  for  me 
is  done.  I  wish  you  to  know  that  you  have  been  the  last 
dream  of  my  soul.  In  my  degradation,  I  have  not  been  so 
degraded  but  that  the  sight  of  you  with  your  father,  and  of 
this  home  made  such  a  home  by  you,  has  stirred  old  shad- 
ows that  I  thought  had  died  out  of  me.  Since  I  knew  you, 
I  have  been  troubled  by  a  remorse  that  I  thought  would 
never  reproach  me  again,  and  have  heard  whispers  from  old 
voices  impelling  me  upward,  that  I  thought  were  silent  for 
ever.  I  have  had  unformed  ideas  of  striving  afresh, 
beginning  anew,  shaking  off  sloth  and  sensuality,  and  fight- 
ing out  the  abandoned  fight.  A  dream,  all  a  dream,  that 
ends  in  nothing,  and  leaves  the  sleeper  where  he  lay  down, 
but  I  wish  you  to  know  that  you  inspired  it." 

"Will  nothing  of  it  remain?     0  Mr.  Carton,  think  again! 
Try  again !  " 

"No,  Miss  Manette;  all  through  it,  I  have  known  my- 
self to  be  quite  undeserving.     And  yet  I  have  had  the 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  177 

weakness,  and  have  still  the  weakness,  to  wish  you  to  know 
with  what  a  sudden  mastery  you  kindled  me,  heap  of  ashes 
that  I  am,  into  fire  —  a  fire,  however,  inseparable  in  its 
nature  from  myself,  quickening  nothing,  lighting  nothing, 
doing  no  service,  idly  burning  away." 

"Since  it  is  my  misfortune,  Mr.  Carton,  to  have  made 
you  more  unhappy  than  you  were  before  you  knew  me ,; 

"Don't  say  that,  Miss  Manette,  for  you  would  have  re- 
claimed me,  if  anything  could.  You  will  not  be  the  cause 
of  my  becoming  worse." 

"  Since  the  state  of  your  mind  that  you  describe,  is,  at 
all  events,  attributable  to  some  influence  of  mine  —  this  is 
what  I  mean,  if  I  can  make  it  plain  —  can  I  use  no  influ- 
ence to  serve  you?  Have  I  no  power  for  good,  with  you, 
at  all?" 

"  The  utmost  good  that  I  am  capable  of  now,  Miss  Ma- 
nette, I  have  come  here  to  realise.  Let  me  carry  through 
the  rest  of  my  misdirected  life,  the  remembrance  that  I 
opened  my  heart  to  you,  last  of  all  the  world;  and  that 
there  was  something  left  in  me  at  this  time  which  you 
could  deplore  and  pity." 

"  Which  I  entreated  you  to  believe,  again  and  again,  most 
fervently,  with  all  my  heart,  was  capable  of  better  things, 
Mr.  Carton!" 

"Entreat  me  to  believe  it  no  more,  Miss  Manette.  I 
have  proved  myself,  and  I  know  better.  I  distress  you; 
I  draw  fast  to  an  end.  Will  you  let  me  believe,  when  I 
recall  this  day,  that  the  last  confidence  of  my  life  was  re- 
posed in  your  pure  and  innocent  breast,  and  that  it  lies 
there  alone,  and  will  be  shared  by  no  one?  " 

"If  that  will  be  a  consolation  to  you,  yes." 

"Not  even  by  the  dearest  one  ever  to  be  known  to  you?'; 

"Mr.  Carton,"  she  answered,  after  an  agitated  pause, 
"the  secret  is  yours,  not  mine;  and  I  promise  to  respect  it." 


178  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

*'  Thank  you.     And  again,  God  bless  you." 

He  put  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Be  under  no  apprehension,  Miss  Manette,  of  my  ever 
resuming  this  conversation  by  so  much  as  a  passing  word. 
I  will  never  refer  to  it  again.  If  I  were  dead,  that  could 
not  be  surer  than  it  is  henceforth.  In  the  hour  of  my  death, 
I  shall  hold  sacred  the  one  good  remembrance  —  and  shall 
thank  and  bless  you  for  it  —  that  my  last  avowal  of  myself 
was  made  to  you,  and  that  my  name,  and  faults,  and  mis- 
eries, were  gently  carried  in  your  heart.  May  it  otherwise 
be  light  and  happy!  " 

He  was  so  unlike  what  he  had  ever  shown  himself  to  be, 
and  it  was  so  sad  to  think  how  much  he  had  thrown  away, 
and  how  much  he  every  day  kept  down  and  perverted,  that 
Lucie  Manette  wept  mournfully  for  him  as  he  stood  looking 
back  at  her. 

"  Be  comforted !  "  he  said,  "  I  am  not  worth  such  feeling, 
Miss  Manette.  An  hour  or  two  hence,  and  the  low  com- 
panions and  low  habits  that  I  scorn  but  yield  to,  will  render 
me  less  worth  such  tears  as  those,  than  any  wretch  who 
creeps  along  the  streets.  Be  comforted!  But,  within 
myself,  I  shall  always  be,  towards  you,  what  I  am  now, 
though  outwardly  I  shall  be  what  you  have  heretofore  seen 
me.  The  last  supplication  but  one  I  make  to  you,  is,  that 
you  will  believe  this  of  me." 

"I  will,  Mr.  Carton." 

"  My  last  supplication  of  all,  is  this ;  and  with  it,  I  will 
relieve  you  of  a  visitor  with  whom  I  well  know  you  have 
nothing  in  unison,  and  between  whom  and  you  there  is  an 
impassable  space.  It  is  useless  to  say  it,  I  know,  but  it 
rises  out  of  my  soul.  For  you,  and  for  any  dear  to  you,  I 
would  do  anything.  If  my  career  were  of  that  better  kind 
that  there  was  any  opportunity  or  capacity  of  sacrifice  in  it, 
I  would  embrace  any  sacrifice  for  you  and  for  those  dear  to 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  179 

you.  Try  to  hold  me  in  your  mind,  at  some  quiet  times,  as 
ardent  and  sincere  in  this  one  thing.  The  time  will  come, 
the  time  will  not  be  long  in  coming,  when  new  ties  will  be 
formed  about  you  —  ties,  that  will  bind  you  yet  more  ten- 
derly and  strongly  to  the  home  you  so  adorn  —  the  dearest 
ties  that  will  ever  grace  and  gladden  you.  O  Miss  Manette, 
when  the  little  picture  of  a  happy  father's  face  looks  up  in 
yours,  when  you  see  your  own  bright  beauty  springing  up 
anew  at  your  feet,  think  now  and  then  that  there  is  a  man 
who  would  give  his  life,  to  keep  a  life  you  love  beside  you !  " 
He  said,  "Farewell!  "  said  "A  last  God  bless  you!  "  and 
left  her. 


CHAPTEK   XIV. 

THE   HONEST    TRADESMAN. 


To  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Jeremiah  Cruncher,  sitting  on  his 
stool  in  Meet-street  with  his  grisly  urchin  beside  him,  a 
vast  number  and  variety  of  objects  in  movement  were  every 
day  presented.  Who  could  sit  upon  anything'  in  Fleet- 
street  during  the  busy  hours  of  the  day,  and  not  be  dazed 
and  deafened  by  two  immense  processions,  one  ever  tending 
westward  with  the  sun,  the  other  ever  tending  eastward 
from  the  sun,  both  ever  tending  to  the  plains  beyond  the 
range  of  red  and  purple  where  the  sun  goes  down! 

With  his  straw  in  his  mouth,  Mr.  Cruncher  sat  watching 
the  two  streams,  like  the  heathen  rustic  who  has  for  several 
centuries  been  on  duty  watching  one  stream  —  saving  that 
Jerry  had  no  expectation  of  their  ever  running  dry.  Nor 
would  it  have  been  an  expectation  of  a  hopeful  kind,  since 
a  small  part  of  his  income  was  derived  from  the  pilotage  of 
timid  women  (mostly  of  a  full  habit  and  past  the  middle 
term  of  life)  from  Tellson's  side  of  the  tides  to  the  opposite 


180  A  TALE   OF  TWO  CITIES. 

shore.  Brief  as  such  companionship  was  in  every  separate 
instance,  Mr.  Cruncher  never  failed  to  become  so  interested 
in  the  lady  as  to  express  a  strong  desire  to  have  the  honour 
of  drinking  her  very  good  health.  And  it  was  from  the 
gifts  bestowed  upon  him  towards  the  execution  of  this 
benevolent  purpose,  that  he  recruited  his  finances,  as  just 
now  observed. 

Time  was,  when  a  poet  sat  upon  a  stool  in  a  public  place, 
and  mused  in  the  sight  of  men.  Mr.  Cruncher,  sitting  on  a 
stool  in  a  public  place,  but  not  being  a  poet,  mused  as  little 
as  possible,  and  looked  about  him. 

It  fell  out  that  he  was  thus  engaged  in  a  season  when 
crowds  were  few,  and  belated  women  few,  and  when  his 
affairs  in  general  were  so  unprosperous  as  to  awaken  a 
strong  suspicion  in  his  breast  that  Mrs.  Cruncher  must  have 
been  "  flopping  "  in  some  pointed  manner,  when  an  unusual 
concourse  pouring  down  Fleet-street  westward,  attracted  his 
attention.  Looking  that  way,  Mr.  Cruncher  made  out  that 
some  kind  of  funeral  was  coming  along,  and  that  there 
was  popular  objection  to  this  funeral,  which  engendered 
uproar. 

"Young  Jerry,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  turning  to  his  off- 
spring, "it's  a  buryin'." 

"  Hooroar,  father !  "  cried  Young  Jerry. 

The  young  gentleman  uttered  this  exultant  sound  with 
mysterious  significance.  The  elder  gentleman  took  the  cry 
so  ill,  that  he  watched  his  opportunity,  and  smote  the 
young  gentleman  on  the  ear. 

"  What  d'ye  mean?  What  are  you  hooroaring  at?  What 
do  you  want  to  conwey  to  your  own  father,  you  young  Rip? 
This  boy  is  getting  too  many  for  me!"  said  Mr.  Cruncher, 
surveying  him.  "Him  and  his  hooroars!  Don't  let  me 
hear  no  more  of  you,  or  you  shall  feel  some  more  of  me. 
D'ye  hear? " 


A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  181 

"I  warn't  doing  no  harm,"  Young  Jerry  protested,  rub- 
bing his  cheek. 

"Drop  it  then,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher;  "I  won't  have  none 
of  your  no  harms.  Get  a  tap  of  that  there  seat,  and  look 
at  the  crowd." 

His  son  obeyed,  and  the  crowd  approached;  they  were 
bawling  and  hissing  round  a  dingy  hearse  and  dingy  mourn- 
ing coach,  in  which  mourning  coach  there  was  only  one 
mourner,  dressed  in  the  dingy  trappings  that  were  con- 
sidered essential  to  the  dignity  of  the  position.  The  posi- 
tion appeared  by  no  means  to  please  him,  however,  with 
an  increasing  rabble  surrounding  the  coach,  deriding  him, 
making  grimaces  at  him,  and  incessantly  groaning  and 
calling  out :  "  Yah !  Spies !  Tst !  Yaha !  Spies !  "  with  many 
compliments  too  numerous  and  forcible  to  repeat. 

Funerals  had  at  all  times  a  remarkable  attraction  for  Mr. 
Cruncher;  he  always  pricked  up  his  senses,  and  became 
excited,  when  a  funeral  passed  Tellson's.  Naturally,  there- 
fore, a  funeral  with  this  uncommon  attendance  excited  him 
greatly,  and  he  asked  of  the  first  man  who  ran  against  him : 

"What  is  it,  brother?     What's  it  about? " 

"J  don't  know,"  said  the  man.  "Spies!  Yaha!  Tst! 
Spies ! " 

He  asked  another  man.     "Who  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  the  man :  clapping  his  hands  to 
his  mouth  nevertheless,  and  vociferating  in  a  surprising 
heat  and  with  the  greatest  ardour,  "  Spies !  Yaha !  Tst,  tst ! 
Spi-ies!" 

At  length,  a  person  better  informed  on  the  merits  of  the 
case,  tumbled  against  him,  and  from  this  person  he  learned 
that  the  funeral  was  the  funeral  of  one  Eoger  Cly. 

"Was  He  a  spy?"  asked  Mr.  Cruncher. 

"  Old  Bailey  spy, "  returned  his  informant.  "  Yaha !  Tst ! 
Yah !  Old  Bailey  Spi-i-ies !  " 


182  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure !  "  exclaimed  Jerry,  recalling  the  Trial 
at  which  he  had  assisted.     "I've  seen  him.     Dead,  is  he?" 

"Dead  as  mutton,"  returned  the  other,  "and  can't  be  too 
dead.  Have  'em  out,  there!  Spies!  Pull  'em  out,  there! 
Spies ! " 

The  idea  was  so  acceptable  in  the  prevalent  absence  of 
any  idea,  that  the  crowd  caught  it  up  with  eagerness,  and 
loudly  repeating  the  suggestion  to  have  'em  out,  and  to  pull 
'em  out,  mobbed  the  two  vehicles  so  closely  that  they  came 
to  a  stop.  On  the  crowd's  opening  the  coach  doors,  the  one 
mourner  scuffled  out  of  himself  and  was  in  their  hands  for 
a  moment;  but  he  was  so  alert,  and  made  such  good  use  of 
his  time,  that  in  another  moment  he  was  scouring  away  up 
a  by-street,  after  shedding  his  cloak,  hat,  long  hatband, 
white  pocket-handkerchief,  and  other  symbolical  tears. 

These,  the  people  tore  to  pieces,  and  scattered  far  and 
wide  with  great  enjoyment,  while  the  tradesmen  hurriedly 
shut  up  their  shops ;  for  a  crowd  in  those  times  stopped  at 
nothing,  and  was  a  monster  much  dreaded.  They  had 
already  got  the  length  of  opening  the  hearse  to  take  the 
coffin  out,  when  some  brighter  genius  proposed  instead,  its 
being  escorted  to  its  destination  amidst  general  rejoicing. 
Practical  suggestions  being  much  needed,  this  suggestion, 
too,  was  received  with  acclamation,  and  the  coach  was 
immediately  filled  with  eight  inside  and  a  dozen  out,  while 
as  many  people  got  on  the  roof  of  the  hearse  as  could  by 
any  exercise  of  ingenuity  stick  upon  it.  Among  the  first 
of  these  volunteers  was  Jerry  Cruncher  himself,  who 
modestly  concealed  his  spiky  head  from  the  observation  of 
Tellson's,  in  the  further  corner  of  the  mourning  coach. 

The  officiating  undertakers  made  some  protest  against 
these  changes  in  the  ceremonies;  but,  the  river  being 
alarmingly  near,  and  several  voices  remarking  on  the 
efficacy  of  cold  immersion  in  bringing  refractory  members 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  183 

of  the  profession  to  reason,  the  protest  was  faint  and  brief. 
The  remodelled  procession  started,  with  a  chimney-sweep 
driving  the  hearse  —  advised  by  the  regular  driver,  who  was 
perched  beside  him,  under  close  inspection,  for  the  purpose 
—  and  with  a  pieman,  also  attended  by  his  cabinet  minister, 
driving  the  mourning  coach.  A  bear-leader,  a  popular 
street  character  of  the  time,  was  impressed  as  an  additional 
ornament,  before  the  cavalcade  had  gone  far  down  the 
Strand;  and  his  bear,  who  was  black  and  very  mangy,  gave 
quite  an  Undertaking  air  to  that  part  of  the  procession  in 
which  he  walked. 

Thus,  with  beer-drinking,  pipe-smoking,  song-roaring, 
and  infinite  caricaturing  of  woe,  the  disorderly  procession 
went  its  way,  recruiting  at  every  step,  and  all  the  shops 
shutting  up  before  it.  Its  destination  was  the  old  church 
of  Saint  Pancras,  far  off  in  the  fields.  It  got  there  in 
course  of  time;  insisted  on  pouring  into  the  burial-ground; 
finally,  accomplished  the  interment  of  the  deceased  Koger 
Cly  in  its  own  way,  and  highly  to  its  own  satisfaction. 

The  dead  man  disposed  of,  and  the  crowd  being  under  the 
necessity  of  providing  some  other  entertainment  for  itself, 
another  brighter  genius  (or  perhaps  the  same)  conceived  the 
humour  of  impeaching  casual  passers-by,  as  Old  Bailey 
spies,  and  wreaking  vengeance  on  them.  Chase  was  given 
to  some  scores  of  inoffensive  persons  who  had  never  been 
near  the  Old  Bailey  in  their  lives,  in  the  realisation  of  this 
fancy,  and  they  were  roughly  hustled  and  maltreated.  The 
transition  to  the  sport  of  window-breaking,  and  thence  to 
the  plundering  of  public  houses,  was  easy  and  natural.  At 
last,  after  several  hours,  when  sundry  summer-houses  had 
been  pulled  down,  and  some  area  railings  had  been  torn  up, 
to  arm  the  more  belligerent  spirits,  a  rumour  got  about  that 
the  Guards  were  coming.  Before  this  rumour,  the  crowd 
gradually  melted  away,  and  perhaps  the  Guards  came,  and 


184  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

perhaps,  they  never  came,  and  this  was  the  usual  progress 
of  a  mob. 

Mr.  Cruncher  did  not  assist  at  the  closing  sports,  but  had 
remained  behind  in  the  churchyard,  to  confer  and  condole 
with  the  undertakers.  The  place  had  a  soothing  influence 
on  him.  He  procured  a  pipe  from  a  neighbouring  public- 
house,  and  smoked  it,  looking  in  at  the  railings  and  maturely 
considering  the  spot. 

"Jerry,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  apostrophising  himself  in 
his  usual  way,  "you  see  that  there  Cly  that  day,  and  you 
see  with  your  own  eyes  that  he  was  a  young  ?un  and  a 
straight  made  'un." 

Having  smoked  his  pipe  out,  and  ruminated  a  little 
longer,  he  turned  himself  about,  that  he  might  appear, 
before  the  hour  of  closing,  on  his  station  at  Tellson's. 
"Whether  his  meditations  on  mortality  had  touched  his  liver, 
or  whether  his  general  health  had  been  previously  at  all 
amiss,  or  whether  he  desired  to  show  a  little  attention  to 
an  eminent  man,  is  not  so  much  to  the  purpose,  as  that  he 
made  a  short  call  upon  his  medical  adviser  —  a  distinguished 
surgeon  —  on  his  way  back. 

Young  Jerry  relieved  his  father  with  dutiful  interest, 
and  reported  No  job  in  his  absence.  The  bank  closed,  the 
ancient  clerks  came  out,  the  usual  watch  was  set,  and  Mr. 
Cruncher  and  his  son  went  home  to  tea. 

"Now,  I  tell  you  where  it  is!  "  said  Mr.  Cruncher  to  his 
wife,  on  entering.  "  If,  as  a  honest  tradesman,  my  wenturs 
goes  wrong  to-night,  I  shall  make  sure  that  you've  been 
praying  again  me,  and  I  shall  work  you  for  it  just  the  same 
as  if  I  seen  you  do  it." 

The  dejected  Mrs.  Cruncher  shook  her  head. 

"  Why,  you're  at  it  afore  my  face ! "  said  Mr.  Cruncher, 
with  signs  of  angry  apprehension. 

"I  am  saying  nothing." 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  185 

"  Well,  then ;  don't  meditate  nothing.  You  might  as  well 
flop  as  meditate.  You  may  as  well  go  again  me  one  way  as 
another.     Drop  it  altogether." 

"Yes,  Jerry." 

"Yes,  Jerry,"  repeated  Mr.  Cruncher,  sitting  down  to 
tea.  "Ah!  It  is  yes,  Jerry.  That's  about  it.  You  may 
say  yes,  Jerry." 

Mr.  Cruncher  had  no  particular  meaning  in  these  sulky 
corroborations,  but  made  use  of  them,  as  people  not  unfre- 
quently  do,  to  express  general  ironical  dissatisfaction. 

"You  and  your  yes,  Jerry,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  taking  a 
bite  out  of  his  bread-and-butter,  and  seeming  to  help  it 
down  with  a  large  invisible  oyster  out  of  his  saucer.  "Ah! 
I  think  so.     I  believe  you." 

"You  are  going  out  to-night?"  asked  his  decent  wife, 
when  he  took  another  bite. 

"Yes,  lam." 

"May  I  go  with  you,  father?"  asked  his  son,  briskly. 

"No,  you  mayn't.  I'm  a  going  —  as  your  mother  knows 
—  a  fishing.     That's  where  I'm  going  to.     Going  a  fishing." 

"Your  fishing-rod  gets  rayther  rusty;  don't  it,  father?" 

"Never  you  mind." 

"Shall  you  bring  any  fish  home,  father?" 

"If   I    don't,   you'll   have   short   commons   to-morrow," 
returned  that  gentleman,  shaking  his  head;  "that's  ques- 
tions enough  for  you;  I  ain't  a  going  out,  till  you've  been 
long  a-bed." 

He  devoted  himself  during  the  remainder  of  the  evening 
to  keeping  a  most  vigilant  watch  on  Mrs.  Cruncher,  and 
sullenly  holding  her  in  conversation  that  she  might  be  pre- 
vented from  meditating  any  petitions  to  his  disadvantage. 
With  this  view,  he  urged  his  son  to  hold  her  in  conversa- 
tion also,  and  led  the  unfortunate  woman  a  hard  life  by 
dwelling  on  any  causes  of  complaint  he  could  bring  against 


186  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

her,  rather  than  he  would  leave  her  for  a  moment  to  her 
own  reflections.  The  devoutest  person  could  have  rendered 
no  greater  homage  to  the  efficacy  of  an  honest  prayer  than 
he  did  in  this  distrust  of  his  wife.  It  was  as  if  a  professed 
unbeliever  in  ghosts  should  be  frightened  by  a  ghost  story. 

"And  mind  you!"  said  Mr.  Cruncher.  "No  games  to- 
morrow !  If  I,  as  a  honest  tradesman,  succeed  in  providing 
a  jinte  of  meat  or  two,  none  of  your  not  touching  of  it,  and 
sticking  to  bread.  If  I,  as  a  honest  tradesman,  am  able  to 
provide  a  little  beer,  none  of  your  declaring  on  water. 
When  you  go  to  Eome,  do  as  Rome  does.  Eome  will  be  a 
ugly  customer  to  you,  if  you  don't.  I'm  your  Eome,  you 
know." 

Then  he  began  grumbling  again : 

"  With  your  flying  into  the  face  of  your  own  wittles  and 
drink!  I  don't  know  how  scarce  you  mayn't  make  the 
wittles  and  drink  here,  by  your  flopping  tricks  and  your 
unfeeling  conduct.  Look  at  your  boy :  he  is  your'n,  ain't 
he?  He's  as  thin  as  a  lath.  Do  you  call  yourself  a 
mother,  and  not  know  that  a  mother's  first  duty  is  to  blow 
her  boy  out?" 

This  touched  Young  Jerry  on  a  tender  place;  who  adjured 
his  mother  to  perform  her  first  duty,  and,  whatever  else  she 
did  or  neglected,  above  all  things  to  lay  special  stress  on 
the  discharge  of  that  maternal  function  so  affectingly  and 
delicately  indicated  by  his  other  parent. 

Thus  the  evening  wore  away  with  the  Cruncher  family, 
until  Young  Jerry  was  ordered  to  bed,  and  his  mother,  laid 
under  similar  injunctions,  obeyed  them.  Mr.  Cruncher 
beguiled  the  earlier  watches  of  the  night  with  solitary 
pipes,  and  did  not  start  upon  his  excursion  until  nearly 
one  o'clock.  Towards  that  small  and  ghostly  hour,  he  rose 
up  from  his  chair,  took  a  key  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  a 
locked  cupboard,  and  brought  forth  a  sack,  a  crowbar  of 


A  TALE  OF  TWO   CITIES.  187 

convenient  size,  a  rope  and  chain,  and  other  fishing-tackle 
of  that  nature.  Disposing  these  articles  about  him  in 
skilful  manner,  he  bestowed  a  parting  defiance  on  Mrs. 
Cruncher,  extinguished  the  light,  and  went  out. 

Young  Jerry,  who  had  only  made  a  feint  of  undressing 
when  he  went  to  bed,  was  not  long  after  his  father.  Under 
cover  of  the  darkness  he  followed  out  of  the  room,  followed 
down  the  stairs,  followed  down  the  court,  followed  out  into 
the  streets.  He  was  in  no  uneasiness  concerning  his  getting 
into  the  house  again,  for  it  was  full  of  lodgers,  and  the  door 
stood  ajar  all  night. 

Impelled  by  a  laudable  ambition  to  study  the  art  and 
mystery  of  his  father's  honest  calling,  Young  Jerry,  keep- 
ing as  close  to  house-fronts,  walls,  and  doorways,  as  his 
eyes  were  close  to  one  another,  held  his  honoured  parent  in 
view.  The  honoured  parent  steering  Northward,  had  not 
gone  far,  when  he  was  joined  by  another  disciple  of  Izaak 
Walton,  and  the  two  trudged  on  together. 

Within  half  an  hour  from  the  first  starting,  they  were 
beyond  the  winking  lamps,  and  the  more  than  winking 
watchmen,  and  were  out  upon  a  lonely  road.  Another 
fisherman  was  picked  up  here  —  and  that  so  silently,  that 
if  Young  Jerry  had  been  superstitious,  he  might  have  sup- 
posed the  second  follower  of  the  gentle  craft  to  have,  all  of 
a  sudden,  split  himself  into  two. 

The  three  went  on,  and  Young  Jerry  went  on,  until  the 
three  stopped  under  a  bank  overhanging  the  road.  Upon 
the  top  of  the  bank  was  a  low  brick  wall  surmounted  by 
an  iron  railing.  In  the  shadow  of  bank  and  wall,  the 
three  turned  out  of  the  road,  and  up  a  blind  lane,  of  which 
the  wall  —  there,  risen  to  some  eight  or  ten  feet  high  — 
formed  one  side.  Crouching  down  in  a  corner,  peeping  up 
the  lane,  the  next  object  that  Young  Jerry  saw,  was  the 
form  of  his  honoured  parent,  pretty  well  defined  against 


188  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

a  watery  and  clouded  moon,  nimbly  scaling  an  iron  gate. 
He  was  soon  over,  and  then  the  second  fisherman  got  over, 
and  then  the  third.  They  all  dropped  softly  on  the  ground 
within  the  gate,  and  lay  there  a  little  —  listening  perhaps. 
Then,  they  moved  away  on  their  hands  and  knees. 

It  was  now  Young  Jerry's  turn  to  approach  the  gate: 
which  he  did,  holding  his  breath.  Crouching  down  again 
in  a  corner  there,  and  looking  in,  he  made  out  the  three 
fishermen  creeping  through  some  rank  grass;  and  all  the 
gravestones  in  the  churchyard  —  it  was  a  large  churchyard 
that  they  were  in  —  looking  on  like  ghosts  in  white,  while 
the  church  tower  itself  looked  on  like  the  ghost  of  a  mon- 
strous giant.  They  did  not  creep  far,  before  they  stopped 
and  stood  upright.     And  then  they  began  to  fish. 

They  fished  with  a  spade,  at  first.  Presently  the 
honoured  parent  appeared  to  be  adjusting  some  instrument 
like  a  great  corkscrew.  Whatever  tools  they  worked  with, 
they  worked  hard,  until  the  awful  striking  of  the  church 
clock  so  terrified  Young  Jerry,  that  he  made  off,  with  his 
hair  as  stiff  as  his  father's. 

But,  his  long-cherished  desire  to  know  more  about  these 
matters,  not  only  stopped  him  in  his  running  away,  but  lured 
him  back  again.  They  were  still  fishing  perseveringly, 
when  he  peeped  in  at  the  gate  for  the  second  time;  but, 
now  they  seemed  to  have  got  a  bite.  There  was  a  screwing 
and  complaining  sound  down  below,  and  their  bent  figures 
were  strained,  as  if  by  a  weight.  By  slow  degrees  the  weight 
broke  away  the  earth  upon  it,  and  came  to  the  surface. 
Young  Jerry  very  well  knew  what  it  would  be ;  but,  when 
he  saw  it,  and  saw  his  honoured  parent  about  to  wrench  it 
open,  he  was  so  frightened,  being  new  to  the  sight,  that  he 
made  off  again,  and  never  stopped  until  he  had  run  a  mile 
or  more. 

He  would  not  have  stopped  then,  for  anything  less  neces- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  189 

sary  than  breath,  it  being  a  spectral  sort  of  race  that  he  ran, 
and  one  highly  desirable  to  get  to  the  end  of.  He  had  a 
strong  idea  that  the  coffin  he  had  seen  was  running  after 
him;  and,  pictured  as  hopping  on  behind  him,  bolt  upright 
upon  its  narrow  end,  always  on  the  point  of  overtaking  him 
and  hopping  on  at  his  side  —  perhaps  taking  his  arm  —  it 
was  a  pursuer  to  shun.  It  was  an  inconsistent  and  ubiqui- 
tous fiend  too,  for,  while  it  was  making  the  whole  night 
behind  him  dreadful,  he  darted  out  into  the  roadway  to 
avoid  dark  alleys,  fearful  of  its  coming  hopping  out  of 
them  like  a  dropsical  boyVKite  without  tail  and  wings. 
It  hid  in  doorways  too,  rubbing  its  horrible  shoulders 
against  doors,  and  drawing  them  up  to  its  ears,  as  if  it  were 
laughing.  It  got  into  shadows  on  the  road,  and  lay  cun- 
ningly on  its  back  to  trip  him  up.  All  this  time,  it  was 
incessantly  hopping  on  behind  and  gaining  on  him,  so  that 
when  the  boy  got  to  his  own  door  he  had  reason  for  being 
half  dead.  And  even  then  it  would  not  leave  him,  but  fol- 
lowed him  up-stairs  with  a  bump  on  every  stair,  scrambled 
into  bed  with  him,  and  bumped  down,  dead  and  heavy,  on 
his  breast  when  he  fell  asleep. 

From  his  oppressed  slumber,  Young  Jerry  in  his  closet 
was  awakened  after  daybreak  and  before  sunrise,  by  the 
presence  of  his  father  in  the  family  room.  Something  had 
gone  wrong  with  him;  at  least,  so  Young  Jerry  inferred, 
from  the  circumstance  of  his  holding  Mrs.  Cruncher  by  the 
ears,  and  knocking  the  back  of  her  head  against  the  head- 
board of  the  bed. 

"I  told  you  I  would,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  "and  I 
did." 

"  Jerry,  Jerry,  Jerry !  "  his  wife  implored. 

"You  oppose  yourself  to  the  profit  of  the  business," 
said  Jerry,  "  and  me  and  my  partners  suffer.  You  was  to 
honour  and  obey;  why  the  devil  don't  you?" 


190  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"I'll  try  to  be  a  good  wife,  Jerry,"  the  poor  woman  pro- 
tested, with  tears. 

"Is  it  being  a  good  wife  to  oppose  your  husband's  busi- 
ness? Is  it  honouring  your  husband  to  dishonour  his  busi- 
ness? Is  it  obeying  your  husband  to  disobey  him  on  the 
wital  subject  of  his  business?" 

"You  hadn't  taken  to  the  dreadful  business  then,  Jerry." 

"It's  enough  for  you,"  retorted  Mr.  Cruncher,  "to  be  the 
wife  of  a  honest  tradesman,  and  not  to  occupy  your  female 
mind  with  calculations  when  he  took  to  his  trade  or  when 
he  didn't.  A  honouring  and  obeying  wife  would  let  his 
trade  alone  altogether.  Call  yourself  a  religious  woman? 
If  you're  a  religious  woman,  give  me  a  irreligious  one !  You 
have  no  more  nat'ral  sense  of  duty  than  the  bed  of  this 
here  Thames  river  has  of  a  pile,  and  similarly  it  must  be 
knocked  into  you." 

The  altercation  was  conducted  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  and 
terminated  in  the  honest  tradesman's  kicking  off  his  clay- 
soiled  boots,  and  lying  down  at  his  length  on  the  floor. 
After  taking  a  timid  peep  at  him  lying  on  his  back,  with 
his  rusty  hands  under  his  head  for  a  pillow,  his  son  lay 
down  too,  and  fell  asleep  again. 

There  was  no  fish  for  breakfast,  and  not  much  of  any- 
thing else.  Mr.  Cruncher  was  out  of  spirits,  and  out  of 
temper,  and  kept  an  iron  pot-lid  by  him  as  a  projectile  for 
the  correction  of  Mrs.  Cruncher,  in  case  he  should  observe 
any  symptoms  of  her  saying  Grace.  He  was  brushed  and 
washed  at  the  usual  hour,  and  set  off  with  his  son  to  pursue 
his  ostensible  calling. 

Young  Jerry,  walking  with  the  stool  under  his  arm  at 
his  father's  side  along  sunny  and  crowded  Fleet-street, 
was  a  very  different  Young  Jerry  from  him  of  the  previous 
night,  running  home  through  darkness  and  solitude  from 
his  grim  pursuer.     His  cunning  was  fresh  with  the  day, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  191 

and  his  qualms  were  gone  with  the  night  —  in  which  partic- 
ulars it  is  not  improbable  that  he  had  compeers  in  Fleet- 
street  and  the  City  of  London,  that  fine  morning. 

"Father,"  said  Young  Jerry,  as  they  walked  along:  tak- 
ing care  to  keep  at  arm's  length  and  to  have  the  stool  well 
between  them:  "what's  a  Resurrection-Man?  n 

Mr.  Cruncher  came  to  a  stop  on  the  pavement  before  he 
answered,  "How  should  I  know?" 

"I  thought  you  knowed  everything,  father,"  said  the 
artless  boy. 

"Hem!  Well,"  returned  Mr.  Cruncher,  going  on  again, 
and  lifting  off  his  hat  to  give  his  spikes  free  play,  "he's  a 
tradesman." 

"What's  his  goods,  father?"  asked  the  brisk  Young 
Jerry. 

"His  goods,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  after  turning  it  over  in 
his  mind,  "is  a  branch  of  Scientific  goods." 

"Persons'  bodies,  ain't  it,  father?"  asked  the  lively 
boy. 

"I  believe  it  is  something  of  that  sort,"  said  Mr. 
Cruncher. 

"  Oh,  father,  I  should  so  like  to  be  a  Resurrection-Man 
when  I'm  quite  growed  up!  " 

Mr.  Cruncher  was  soothed,  but  shook  his  head  in  a  dubi- 
ous and  moral  way.  "  It  depends  upon  how  you  dewelop 
your  talents.  Be  careful  to  dewelop  your  talents,  and 
never  to  say  no  more  than  you  can  help  to  nobody,  and 
there's  no  telling  at  the  present  time  what  you  may  not 
come  to  be  fit  for."  As  Young  Jerry,  thus  encouraged, 
went  on  a  few  yards  in  advance,  to  plant  the  stool  in  the 
shadow  of  the  Bar,  Mr.  Cruncher  added  to  himself :  "  Jerry, 
you  honest  tradesman,  there's  hopes  wot  that  boy  will 
yet  be  a  blessing  to  you,  and  a  recompense  to  you  for  his 
mother ! " 


192  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

KNITTING. 

There  had  been  earlier  drinking  than  usual  in  the 
wine-shop  of  Monsieur  Defarge.  As  early  as  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  sallow  faces  peeping  through  its  barred 
windows  had  descried  other  faces  within,  bending  over 
measures  of  wine.  Monsieur  Defarge  sold  a  very  thin  wine 
at  the  best  of  times,  but  it  would  seem  to  have  been  an 
unusually  thin  wine  that  he  sold  at  this  time.  A  sour 
wine,  moreover,  or  a  souring,  for  its  influence  on  the  mood 
of  those  who  drank  it  was  to  make  them  gloomy.  No 
vivacious  Bacchanalian  flame  leaped  out  of  the  pressed 
grape  of  Monsieur  Defarge:  but,  a  smouldering  fire  that 
burnt  in  the  dark,  lay  hidden  in  the  dregs  of  it. 

This  had  been  the  third  morning  in  succession,  on  which 
there  had  been  early  drinking  at  the  wine-shop  of  Monsieur 
Defarge.  It  had  begun  on  Monday,  and  here  was  Wednes- 
day come.  There  had  been  more  of  early  brooding  than 
drinking;  for,  many  men  had  listened  and  whispered  and 
slunk  about  there  from  the  time  of  the  opening  of  the  door, 
who  could  not  have  laid  a  piece  of  money  on  the  counter  to 
save  their  souls.  These  were  to  the  full  as  interested  in 
the  place,  however,  as  if  they  could  have  commanded  whole 
barrels  of  wine;  and  they  glided  from  seat  to  seat,  and 
from  corner  to  corner,  swallowing  talk  in  lieu  of  drink, 
with  greedy  looks. 

Notwithstanding  an  unusual  flow  of  company,  the  master 
of  the  wine-shop  was  not  visible.  He  was  not  missed;  for, 
nobody  who  crossed  the  threshold  looked  for  him,  nobody 
asked  for  him,  nobody  wondered  to  see  only  Madame  De- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  193 

farge  in  her  seat,  presiding  over  the  distribution  of  wine, 
with  a  bowl  of  battered  small  coins  before  her,  as  much 
defaced  and  beaten  out  of  their  original  impress  as 
the  small  coinage  of  humanity  from  whose  ragged  pockets 
they  had  come. 

A  suspended  interest  and  a  prevalent  absence  of  mind, 
were  perhaps  observed  by  the  spies  who  looked  in  at  the 
wine-shop,  as  they  looked  in  at  every  place,  high  and  low, 
from  the  king's  palace  to  the  criminal's  gaol.  Games  at 
cards  languished,  players  at  dominoes  musingly  built 
towers  with  them,  drinkers  drew  figures  on  the  tables  with 
spilt  drops  of  wine,  Madame  Defarge  herself  picked  out  the 
pattern  on  her  sleeve  with  her  toothpick,  and  saw  and  heard 
something  inaudible  and  invisible  a  long  way  off. 

Thus,  Saint  Antoine  in  this  vinous  feature  of  his,  until 
mid-day.  It  was  high  noontide,  when  two  dusty  men 
passed  through  his  streets  and  under  his  swinging  lamps: 
of  whom,  one  was  Monsieur  Defarge :  the  other,  a  mender 
of  roads  in  a  blue  cap.  All  adust  and  athirst,  the  two 
entered  the  wine-shop.  Their  arrival  had  lighted  a  kind 
of  fire  in  the  breast  of  Saint  Antoine,  fast  spreading  as  they 
came  along,  which  stirred  and  flickered  in  flames  of  faces 
at  most  doors  and  windows.  Yet,  no  one  had  followed  them, 
and  no  man  spoke  when  they  entered  the  wine-shop,  though 
the  eyes  of  every  man  there  were  turned  upon  them. 

"Good  day,  gentlemen!"  said  Monsieur  Defarge. 

It  may  have  been  a  signal  for  loosening  the  general 
tongue.     It  elicited  an  answering  chorus  of  "  Good  day!  " 

"It  is  bad  weather,  gentlemen,"  said  Defarge,  shaking 
his  head. 

Upon  which,  every  man  looked  at  his   neighbour,  and 

then  all  cast  down  their  eyes  and  sat  silent.     Except  one 

man,  who  got  up  and  went  out. 

"My   wife,"    said  Defarge   aloud,    addressing    Madame 

o 


194  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

Def arge ;  "  I  have  travelled  certain  leagues  with  this  good 
mender  of  roads,  called  Jacques.  I  met  him  —  by  accident 
—  a  day  and  a  half's  journey  out  of  Paris.  He  is  a  good 
child,  this  mender  of  roads,  called  Jacques.  Give  him  to 
drink,  my  wife !  " 

A  second  man  got  up  and  went  out.  Madame  Defarge 
set  wine  before  the  mender  of  roads  called  Jacques,  who 
doffed  his  blue  cap  to  the  company,  and  drank.  In  the 
breast  of  his  blouse,  he  carried  some  coarse  dark  bread;  he 
ate  of  this  between  whiles,  and  sat  munching  and  drinking 
near  Madame  Def  arge' s  counter.  A  third  man  got  up  and 
went  out. 

Defarge  refreshed  himself  with  a  draught  of  wine  —  but, 
he  took  less  than  was  given  to  the  stranger,  as  being  him- 
self a  man  to  whom  it  was  no  rarity  —  and  stood  waiting 
until  the  countryman  had  made  his  breakfast.  He  looked 
at  no  one  present,  and  no  one  now  looked  at  him;  not  even 
Madame  Defarge,  who  had  taken  up  her  knitting,  and  was 
at  work. 

"Have  you  finished  your  repast,  friend?"  he  asked,  in 
due  season. 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"Come  then!  You  shall  see  the  apartment  that  I  told 
you  you  could  occupy.     It  will  suit  you  to  a  marvel." 

Out  of  the  wine-shop  into  the  street,  out  of  the  street  into 
a  court -yard,  out  of  the  court -yard  up  a  steep  staircase,  out 
of  the  staircase  into  a  garret  —  formerly  the  garret  where  a 
white-haired  man  sat  on  a  low  bench,  stooging  forward  and 
very  busy,  making  shoes. 

No  white-haired  man  was  there  now;  but,  the  three  men 
were  there  who  had  gone  out  of  the  wine-shop  singly.  And 
between  them  and  the  white-haired  man  afar  off,  was  the 
one  small  link,  that  they  had  once  looked  in  at  him  through 
the  chinks  in  the  wall. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  195 

Defarge  closed  the  door  carefully,  and  spoke  in  a  subdued 
voice : 

"Jacques  One,  Jacques  Two,  Jacques  Three!  This  is 
the  witness  encountered  by  appointment,  by  me,  Jacques 
Four.     He  will  tell  you  all.     Speak,  Jacques  Five!  " 

The  mender  of  roads,  blue  cap  in  hand,  wiped  his  swarthy 
forehead  with  it,  and  said,  "Where  shall  I  commence, 
monsieur?  " 

"Commence,"  was  Monsieur  Defarge's  not  unreasonable 
reply,  "at  the  commencement." 

"I  saw  him  then,  messieurs,"  began  the  mender  of  roads, 
u  a  year  ago  this  running  summer,  underneath  the  carriage 
of  the  Marquis,  hanging  by  the  chain.  Behold  the  manner 
of  it.  I  leaving  my  work  on  the  road,  the  sun  going  to  bed, 
the  carriage  of  the  Marquis  slowly  ascending  the  hill,  he 
hanging  by  the  chain  —  like  this." 

Again,  the  mender  of  roads  went  through  the  old  per- 
formance ;  in  which  he  ought  to  have  been  perfect  by  that 
time,  seeing  that  it  had  been  the  infallible  resource  and 
indispensable  entertainment  of  his  village  during  a  whole 
year. 

Jacques  One  struck  in,  and  asked  if  he  had  ever  seen 
the  man  before? 

"Never,"  answered  the  mender  of  roads,  recovering  his 
perpendicular. 

Jacques  Three  demanded  how  he  afterwards  recognised 
him  then? 

"  By  his  tall  figure, "  said  the  mender  of  roads,  softly,  and 
with  his  finger  at  his  nose.  "When  Monsieur  the  Marquis 
demands  that  evening,  'Say,  what  is  he  like?'  I  make 
response,  '  Tall  as  a  spectre.'  " 

"You  should  have  said,  short  as  a  dwarf,"  returned 
Jacques  Two. 

"  But  what  did  I  know !     The  deed  was  not  then  accoin- 


196  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

plished,  neither  did  he  confide  in  me.  Observe!  Under 
those  circumstances  even,  I  do  not  offer  my  testimony. 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  iodicates  me  with  his  finger,  stand- 
ing near  our  little  fountain,  and  says,  '  To  me !  Bring  that 
rascal ! '     My  faith,  messieurs,  I  offer  nothing. " 

"  He  is  right  there,  Jacques, "  murmured  Defarge,  to  him 
who  had  interrupted.   .  "  Go  on !  " 

"Good!"  said  the  mender  of  roads,  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery. "  The  tall  man  is  lost,  and  he  is  sought  —  how  many 
months?     Nine,  ten,  eleven?" 

"No  matter,  the  number,"  said  Defarge.  "He  is  well 
hidden,  but  at  last  he  is  unluckily  found.     Go  on !  " 

"  I  am  again  at  work  upon  the  hill-side,  and  the  sun  is 
again  about  to  go  to  bed.  I  am  collecting  my  tools  to  de- 
scend to  my  cottage  down  in  the  village  below,  where  it  is 
already  dark,  when  I  raise  my  eyes,  and  see  coming  over 
the  hill,  six  soldiers.  In  the  midst  of  them  is  a  tall  man 
with  his  arms  bound  —  tied  to  his  sides,  like  this!  " 

With  the  aid  of  his  indispensable  cap,  he  represented  a 
man  with  his  elbows  bound  fast  at  his  hips,  with  cords  that 
were  knotted  behind  him. 

"  I  stand  aside,  messieurs,  by  my  heap  of  stones,  to  see 
the  soldiers  and  their  prisoner  pass  (for  it  is  a  solitary 
road,  that,  where  any  spectacle  is  well  worth  looking  at), 
and  at  first,  as  they  approach,  I  see  no  more  than  that  they 
are  six  soldiers  with  a  tall  man  bound,  and  that  they  are 
almost  black  to  my  sight  —  except  on  the  side  of  the  sun 
going  to  bed,  where  they  have  a  red  edge,  messieurs.  Also, 
I  see  that  their  long  shadows  are  on  the  hollow  ridge  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  road,  and  are  on  the  hill  above  it,  and 
are  like  the  shadows  of  giants.  Also,  I  see  that  they  are 
covered  with  dust,  and  that  the  dust  moves  with  them  as 
they  come,  tramp,  tramp!  But  when  they  advance  quite 
near  to  me,  I  recognise  the  tall  man,  and  he  recognises  me. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  197 

Ah,  but  he  would  be  well  content  to  precipitate  himself 
over  the  hill-side  once  again,  as  on  the  evening  when  he  and 
I  first  encountered,  close  to  the  same  spot ! " 

He  described  it  as  if  he  were  there,  and  it  was  evident  that 
he  saw  it  vividly;  perhaps  he  had  not  seen  much  in  his  life. 

"  I  do  not  show  the  soldiers  that  I  recognise  the  tall  man; 
he  does  not  show  the  soldiers  that  he  recognises  me ;  we  do 
it,  and  we  know  it,  with  our  eyes.  'Come  on!7  says  the 
chief  of  that  company,  pointing  to  the  village,  '  bring  him 
fast  to  his  tomb! '  and  they  bring  him  faster.  I  follow. 
His  arms  are  swelled  because  of  being  bound  so  tight,  his 
wooden  shoes  are  large  and  clumsy,  and  he  is  lame.  Be- 
cause he  is  lame,  and  consequently  slow,  they  drive  him 
with  their  guns  —  like  this!  " 

He  imitated  the  action  of  a  man's  being  impelled  forward 
by  the  butt- ends  of  muskets. 

"  As  they  descend  the  hill  like  madmen  running  a  race, 
he  falls.  They  laugh  and  pick  him  up  again.  His  face  is 
bleeding  and  covered  with  dust,  but  he  cannot  touch  it; 
thereupon  they  laugh  again.  They  bring  him  into  the  vil- 
lage; all  the  village  runs  to  look;  they  take  him  past  the 
mill,  and  up  to  the  prison ;  all  the  village  sees  the  prison 
gate  open  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  swallow  him 
—  like  this !  " 

He  opened  his  mouth  as  wide  as  he  could,  and  shut  it 
with  a  sounding  snap  of  his  teeth.  Observant  of  his  un- 
willingness to  mar  the  effect  by  opening  it  again,  Defarge 
said,  "Go  on,  Jacques." 

"All  the  village,"  pursued  the  mender  of  roads,  on  tip- 
toe and  in  a  low  voice,  "withdraws;  all  the  village  whis- 
pers by  the  fountain ;  all  the  village  sleeps ;  all  the  village 
dreams  of  that  unhappy  one,  within  the  locks  and  bars  of 
the  prison  on  the  crag,  and  never  to  come  out  of  it,  except 
to  perish.     In  the  morning,  with  my  tools  upon  my  shoul- 


198  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

der,  eating  my  morsel  of  black  bread  as  I  go,  I  made  a  cir- 
cuit by  the  prison,  on  my  way  to  my  work.  There,  I  see 
him,  high  up,  behind  the  bars  of  a  lofty  iron  cage,  bloody 
and  dusty  as  last  night,  looking  through.  He  has  no  hand 
free,  to  wave  to  me ;  I  dare  not  call  to  him ;  he  regards  me 
like  a  dead  man." 

Defarge  and  the  three  glanced  darkly  at  one  another. 
The  looks  of  all  of  them  were  dark,  repressed,  and  revenge- 
ful, as  they  listened  to  the  countryman's  story;  the  manner 
of  all  of  them,  while  it  was  secret  was  authoritative  too. 
They  had  the  air  of  a  rough  tribunal;  Jacques  One  and 
Two  sitting  on  the  old  pallet-bed,  each  with  his  chin  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  intent  on  the  road  mender; 
Jacques  Three,  equally  intent,  on  one  knee  behind  them, 
with  his  agitated  hand  always  gliding  over  the  network  of 
fine  nerves  about  his  mouth  and  nose;  Defarge  standing 
between  them  and  the  narrator,  whom  he  had  stationed  in 
the  light  of  the  window,  by  turns  looking  from  him  to  them 
and  from  them  to  him. 

"Go  on,  Jacques,"  said  Defarge. 

"  He  remains  up  there  in  his  iron  cage,  some  days.  The 
village  looks  at  him  by  stealth,  for  it  is  afraid.  But  it 
always  looks  up,  from  a  distance,  at  the  prison  on  the 
crag;  and  in  the  evening  when  the  work  of  the  day  is 
achieved  and  it  assembles  to  gossip  at  the  fountain,  all 
faces  are  turned  towards  the  prison.  Formerly,  they  were 
turned  towards  the  posting-house;  now,  they  are  turned 
towards  the  prison.  They  whisper  at  the  fountain,  that 
although  condemned  to  death  he  will  not  be  executed ;  they 
say  that  petitions  have  been  presented  in  Paris,  showing 
that  he  was  enraged  and  made  mad  by  the  death  of  his 
child ;  they  say  that  a  petition  has  been  presented  to  the 
King  himself.  What  do  I  know?  It  is  possible.  Perhaps 
yes,  perhaps  no." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  199 

"Listen  then,  Jacques,"  Number  One  of  that  name  sternly 
interposed.  "  Know  that  a  petition  was  presented  to  the 
King  and  Queen.  All  here,  yourself  excepted,  saw  the 
King  take  it,  in  his  carriage  in  the  street,  sitting  beside 
the  Queen.  It  is  Defarge  whom  you  see  here,  who,  at  the 
hazard  of  his  life,  darted  out  before  the  horses,  with  the 
petition  in  his  hand." 

"  And  once  again  listen,  Jacques !  "  said  the  kneeling 
Number  Three :  his  fingers  ever  wandering  over  and  over 
those  fine  nerves,  with  a  strikingly  greedy  air,  as  if  he 
hungered  for  something  —  that  was  neither  food  nor  drink; 
"the  guard,  horse  and  foot,  surrounded  the  petitioner,  and 
struck  him  blows.     You  hear?" 

"I  hear,  messieurs." 

"Go  on  then,"  said  Defarge. 

"Again;  on  the  other  hand,  they  whisper  at  the  fountain," 
resumed  the  countryman,  "  that  he  is  brought  down  into  our 
country  to  be  executed  on  the  spot,  and  that  he  will  very 
certainly  be  executed.  They  even  whisper  that  because  he 
has  slain  Monseigneur,  and  because  Monseigneur  was  the 
father  of  his  tenants  —  serfs  —  what  you  will  —  he  will  be 
executed  as  a  parricide.  One  old  man  says  at  the  fountain, 
that  his  right  hand,  armed  with  the  knife,  will  be  burnt  off 
before  his  face;  that,  into  wounds  which  will  be  made  in 
his  arms,  his  breast,  and  his  legs,  there  will  be  poured 
boiling  oil,  melted  lead,  hot  resin,  wax,  and  sulphur; 
finally,  that  he  will  be  torn  limb  from  limb  by  four  strong 
horses.  That  old  man  says,  all  this  was  actually  done  to  a 
prisoner  who  made  an  attempt  on  the  life  of  the  last  King, 
Louis  Fifteen.  But  how  do  I  know  if  he  lies?  I  am  not  a 
scholar." 

"  Listen  once  again  then,  Jacques ! "  said  the  man  with 
the  restless  hand  and  the  craving  air.  "  The  name  of  that 
prisoner  was  Damiens,  and  it  was  all  done  in  open  day,  in 


200  A  TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

the  open  streets  of  this  city  of  Paris;  and  nothing  was  more' 
noticed  in  the  vast  concourse  that  saw  it  done,  than  the 
crowd  of  ladies  of  quality  and  fashion,  who  were  full  of 
eager  attention  to  the  last  —  to  the  last,  Jacques,  prolonged 
until  nightfall,  when  he  had  lost  two  legs  and  an  arm,  and 
still  breathed !     And  it  was  done  —  why,  how  old  are  you?  " 

a  Thirty -five, "  said  the  mender  of  roads,  who  looked  sixty. 

"  It  was  done  when  you  were  more  than  ten  years  old ;  you 
might  have  seen  it." 

"Enough!  "  said  Defarge,  with  grim  impatience.  "Long 
live  the  Devil!     Go  on." 

"Well!  Some  whisper  this,  some  whisper  that;  they 
speak  of  nothing  else ;  even  the  fountain  appears  to  fall  to 
that  tune.  At  length,  on  Sunday  night  when  all  the  village 
is  asleep,  come  soldiers,  winding  down  from  the  prison,  and 
their  guns  ring  on  the  stones  of  the  little  street.  Workmen 
dig,  workmen  hammer,  soldiers  laugh  and  sing;  in  the 
morning,  by  the  fountain,  there  is  raised  a  gallows  forty 
feet  high,  poisoning  the  water." 

The  mender  of  roads  looked  through  rather  than  at  the 
low  ceiling,  and  pointed  as  if  he  saw  the  gallows  somewhere 
in  the  sky. 

"  All  work  is  stopped,  all  assemble  there,  nobody  leads 
the  cows  out,  the  cows  are  there,  with  the  rest.  At  mid-day, 
the  roll  of  drums.  Soldiers  have  marched  into  the  prison 
in  the  night,  and  he  is  in  the  midst  of  many  soldiers.  He 
is  bound  as  before,  and  in  his  mouth  there  is  a  gag  —  tied 
so,  with  a  tight  string,  making  him  look  almost  as  if  he 
laughed."  He  suggested  it,  by  creasing  his  face  with  his 
two  thumbs,  from  the  corners  of  his  mouth  to  his  ears. 
"On  the  top  of  the  gallows  is  fixed  the  knife,  blade 
upwards,  with  its  point  in  the  air.  He  is  hanged  there 
forty  feet  high  —  and  is  left  hanging,  poisoning  the  water." 

They  looked  at  one  another,  as  he  used  his  blue  cap  to  wipe 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  201 

his  face,  on  which  the  perspiration  had  started  afresh  while 
he  recalled  the  spectacle. 

"It  is  frightful,  messieurs.  How  can  the  women  and 
the  children  draw  water !  Who  can  gossip  of  an  evening, 
under  that  shadow!  Under  it,  have  I  said?  When  I  left 
the  village,  Monday  evening  as  the  sun  was  going  to  bed, 
and  looked  back  from  the  hill,  the  shadow  struck  across  the 
church,  across  the  mill,  across  the  prison  —  seemed  to  strike 
across  the  earth,  messieurs,  to  where  the  sky  rests  upon  it !  " 

The  hungry  man  gnawed  one  of  his  fingers  as  he  looked 
at  the  other  three,  and  his  finger  quivered  with  the  craving 
that  was  on  him. 

"  That's  all,  messieurs.  I  left  at  sunset  (as  I  had  been 
warned  to  do),  and  I  walked  on,  that  night  and  half  next 
day,  until  I  met  (as  I  was  warned  I  should)  this  comrade. 
With  him,  I  came  on,  now  riding  and  now  walking,  through 
the  rest  of  yesterday  and  through  last  night.  And  here 
you  see  me !  " 

After  a  gloomy  silence,  the  first  Jacques  said,  "Good. 
You  have  acted  and  recounted,  faithfully.  Will  you  wait 
for  us  a  little,  outside  the  door?  " 

"Very  willingly,"  said  the  mender  of  roads.  Whom 
Defarge  escorted  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and,  leaving  seated 
there,  returned. 

The  three  had  risen,  and  their  heads  were  together  when 
he  came  back  to  the  garret. 

"  How  say  you,  Jacques?  "  demanded  Number  One.  "  To 
be  registered?" 

"To  be  registered,  as  doomed  to  destruction,"  returned 
Defarge. 

"  Magnificent !  "  croaked  the  man  with  the  craving. 

"The  chateau,  and  all  the  race?"  inquired  the  first. 

"The  chateau  and  all  the  race,"  returned  Defarge.  "Ex- 
termination." 


202  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

The  hungry  man  repeated,  in  a  rapturous  croak,  "Mag- 
nificent !  "  and  began  gnawing  another  finger. 

"Are  you  sure,"  asked  Jacques  Two,  of  Defarge,  "that 
no  embarrassment  can  arise  from  our  manner  of  keeping 
the  register?  Without  doubt  it  is  safe,  for  no  one  beyond 
ourselves  can  decipher  it;  but  shall  we  always  be  able  to 
decipher  it  —  or,  I  ought  to  say,  will  she?" 

"Jacques,"  returned  Defarge,  drawing  himself  up,  "if 
madame  my  wife  undertook  to  keep  the  register  in  her 
memory  alone,  she  would  not  lose  a  word  of  it  —  not  a 
syllable  of  it.  Knitted,  in  her  own  stitches  and  her  own 
symbols,  it  will  always  be  as  plain  to  her  as  the  sun.  Con- 
fide in  Madame  Defarge.  It  would  be  easier  for  the 
weakest  poltroon  that  lives,  to  erase  himself  from  existence, 
than  to  erase  one  letter  of  his  name  or  crimes  from  the 
knitted  register  of  Madame  Defarge." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  confidence  and  approval,  and  then 
the  man  who  hungered,  asked:  "Is  this  rustic  to  be  sent 
back  soon?  I  hope  so.  He  is  very  simple;  is  he  not  a 
little  dangerous?" 

"He  knows  nothing,"  said  Defarge;  "at  least  nothing 
more  than  would  easily  elevate  himself  to  a  gallows  of  the 
same  height.  I  charge  myself  with  him;  let  him  remain 
with  me ;  I  will  take  care  of  him,  and  set  him  on  his  road. 
He  wishes  to  see  the  fine  world  —  the  King,  the  Queen,  and 
Court;  let  him  see  them  on  Sunday." 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  hungry  man,  staring.  "Is  it  a 
good  sign,  that  he  wishes  to  see  Eoyalty  and  Nobility? '; 

"Jacques,"  said  Defarge;  "judiciously  show  a  cat,  milk, 
if  you  wish  her  to  thirst  for  it.  Judiciously  show  a  dog 
his  natural  prey,  if  you  wish  him  to  bring  it  down  one 
day." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  and  the  mender  of  roads,  being 
found  already  dozing  on  the  topmost  stair,  was  advised  to 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  203 

lay  himself  down  on  the  pallet-bed  and  take  some  rest.     He 
needed  no  persuasion,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

Worse  quarters  than  Defarge's  wine-shop,  could  easily 
have  been  found  in  Paris  for  a  provincial  slave  of  that 
degree.  Saving  for  a  mysterious  dread  of  madame  by  which 
he  was  constantly  haunted,  his  life  was  very  new  and 
agreeable.  But,  madame  sat  all  day  at  her  counter,  so 
expressly  unconscious  of  him,  and  so  particularly  deter- 
mined not  to  perceive  that  his  being  there  had  any  connex- 
ion with  anything  below  the  surface,  that  he  shook  in  his 
wooden  shoes  whenever  his  eye  lighted  on  her.  For,  he 
contended  with  himself  that  it  was  impossible  to  foresee 
what  that  lady  might  pretend  next ;  and  he  felt  assured  that 
if  she  should  take  it  into  her  brightly  ornamented  head  to 
pretend  that  she  had  seen  him  do  a  murder  and  afterwards 
flay  the  victim,  she  would  infallibly  go  through  with  it 
until  the  play  was  played  out. 

Therefore,  when  Sunday  came,  the  mender  of  roads  was 
not  enchanted  (though  he  said  he  was)  to  find  that  madame 
was  to  accompany  monsieur  and  himself  to  Versailles.  It 
was  additionally  disconcerting  to  have  madame  knitting  all 
the  way  there,  in  a  public  conveyance ;  it  was  additionally 
disconcerting  yet,  to  have  madame  in  the  crowd  in  the 
afternoon,  still  with  her  knitting  in  her  hands  as  the  crowd 
waited  to  see  the  carriage  of  the  King  and  Queen. 

"You  work  hard,  madame,"  said  a  man  near  her. 

"  Yes, "  answered  Madame  Def arge ;  "  I  have  a  good  deal 
to  do." 

"What  do  you  make,  madame?" 

"Many  things." 

"  For  instance " 

"For  instance,"  returned  Madame  Def  arge,  composedly, 
"shrouds." 

The  man  moved  a  little  further  away,  as  soon  as  he  could, 


204  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and  the  mender  of  roads  fanned  himself  with  his  blue  cap : 
feeling  it  mightily  close  and  oppressive.  If  he  needed  a 
King  and  Queen  to  restore  him,  he  was  fortunate  in  having 
his  remedy  at  hand ;  for,  soon  the  large-faced  King  and  the 
fair-faced  Queen  came  in  their  golden  coach,  attended  by  the 
shining  Bull's  Eye  of  their  Court,  a  glittering  multitude  of 
laughing  ladies  and  fine  lords ;  and  in  jewels  and  silks  and 
powder  and  splendour  and  elegantly  spurning  figures  and 
handsomely  disdainful  faces  of  both  sexes,  the  mender  of 
roads  bathed  himself,  so  much  to  his  temporary  intoxica- 
tion, that  he  cried  Long  live  the  King,  Long  live  the  Queen, 
Long  live  everybody  and  everything!  as  if  he  had  never 
heard  of  ubiquitous  Jacques  in  his  time.  Then,  there  were 
gardens,  court-yards,  terraces,  fountains,  green  banks,  more 
King  and  Queen,  more  Bull's  Eye,  more  lords  and  ladies, 
more  Long  live  they  all!  until  he  absolutely  wept  with 
sentiment.  During  the  whole  of  this  scene,  which  lasted 
some  three  hours,  he  had  plenty  of  shouting  and  weeping 
and  sentimental  company,  and  throughout  Defarge  held  him 
by  the  collar,  as  if  to  restrain  him  from  flying  at  the  objects 
of  his  brief  devotion  and  tearing  them  to  pieces. 

"  Bravo !  "  said  Defarge,  clapping  him  on  the  back  when 
it  was  over,  like  a  patron ;  "  you  are  a  good  boy !  " 

The  mender  of  roads  was  now  coming  to  himself,  and  was 
mistrustful  of  having  made  a  mistake  in  his  late  demonstra- 
tions; but  no. 

"You  are  the  fellow  we  want,"  said  Defarge,  in  his  ear; 
"you  make  these  fools  believe  that  it  will  last  for  ever. 
Then,  they  are  the  more  insolent,  and  it  is  the  nearer  ended." 

"Hey!"  cried  the  mender  of  roads,  reflectively;  "that's 
true." 

"These  fools  know  nothing.  While  they  despise  your 
breath,  and  would  stop  it  for  ever  and  ever,  in  you  or  in  a 
hundred  like  you  rather  than  in  one  of  their  own  horses  or 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  205 

dogs,  they  only  know  what  your  breath  tells  them.  Let  it 
deceive  them,  then,  a  little  longer;  it  cannot  deceive  them 
too  much." 

Madame  Defarge  looked  superciliously  at  the  client,  and 
nodded  in  confirmation. 

"As  to  you,"  said  she,  "you  would  shout  and  shed  tears 
for  anything,  if  it  made  a  show  and  a  noise.  Say !  Would 
you  not?" 

"Truly,  madame,  I  think  so.     For  the  moment." 

"  If  you  were  shown  a  great  heap  of  dolls,  and  were  set 
upon  them  to  pluck  them  to  pieces  and  despoil  them  for  your 
own  advantage,  you  would  pick  out  the  richest  and  gayest. 
Say!     Would  you  not? " 

"Truly  yes,  madame." 

"Yes.  And  if  you  were  shown  a  flock  of  birds,  unable 
to  fly,  and  were  set  upon  them  to  strip  them  of  their  feath- 
ers for  your  own  advantage,  you  would  set  upon  the  birds 
of  the  finest  feathers;  would  you  not?" 

"It  is  true,  madame." 

"You  have  seen  both  dolls  and  birds  to-day,"  said 
Madame  Defarge,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  towards  the 
place  where  they  had  last  been  apparent;  "now,  go  home!  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

STILL    KNITTING. 


Madame  Defarge  and  monsieur  her  husband  returned 
amicably  to  the  bosom  of  Saint  Antoine,  while  a  speck  in 
a  blue  cap  toiled  through  the  darkness,  and  through  the 
dust,  and  down  the  weary  miles  of  avenue  by  the  wayside, 
slowly  tending  towards  that  point  of  the  compass  where 
the  chateau  of  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  now  in  his  grave, 


206  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

listened  to  the  whispering  trees.  Such  ample  leisure  had 
the  stone  faces,  now,  for  listening  to  the  trees  and  to  the 
fountain,  that  the  few  village  scarecrows  who,  in  their 
quest  for  herbs  to  eat  and  fragments  of  dead  stick  to  burn, 
strayed  within  sight  of  the  great  stone  court-yard  and  ter- 
race staircase,  had  it  borne  in  upon  their  starved  fancy  that 
the  expression  of  the  faces  was  altered.  A  rumour  just 
lived  in  the  village  —  had  a  faint  and  bare  existence  there, 
as  its  people  had  —  that  when  the  knife  struck  home,  the 
faces  changed,  from  faces  of  pride  to  faces  of  anger  and 
pain;  also,  that  when  that  dangling  figure  was  hauled  up 
forty  feet  above  the  fountain,  they  changed  again,  and 
bore  a  cruel  look  of  being  avenged,  which  they  would  hence- 
forth bear  for  ever.  In  the  stone  face  over  the  great  win- 
dow of  the  bed-chamber  where  the  murder  was  done,  two 
fine  dints  were  pointed  out  in  the  sculptured  nose,  which 
everybody  recognised,  and  which  nobody  had  seen  of  old; 
and  on  the  scarce  occasions  when  two  or  three  ragged  peas- 
ants emerged  from  the  crowd  to  take  a  hurried  peep  at 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  petrified,  a  skinny  finger  would  not 
have  pointed  to  it  for  a  minute,  before  they  all  started 
away  among  the  moss  and  leaves,  like  the  more  fortunate 
hares  who  could  find  a  living  there. 

Chateau  and  hut,  stone  face  and  dangling  figure,  the  red 
stain  on  the  stone  floor,  and  the  pure  water  in  the  village 
well  —  thousands  of  acres  of  land  —  a  whole  province  of 
France  —  all  France  itself  —  lay  under  the  night  sky,  con- 
centrated into  a  faint  hair-breadth  line.  So  does  a  whole 
world  with  all  its  greatnesses  and  littlenesses,  lie  in  a 
twinkling  star.  And  as  mere  human  knowledge  can  split 
a  ray  of  light  and  analyse  the  manner  of  its  composition, 
so,  sublimer  intelligences  may  read  in  the  feeble  shining 
of  this  earth  of  ours,  every  thought  and  act,  every  vice  and 
virtue,  of  every  responsible  creature  on  it. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  207 

The  Defarges,  husband  and  wife,  came  lumbering  under 
the  starlight,  in  their  public  vehicle,  to  that  gate  of  Paris 
whereunto  their  journey  naturally  tended.  There  was  the 
usual  stoppage  at  the  barrier  guard-house,  and  the  usual 
lanterns  came  glancing  forth  for  the  usual  examination  and 
inquiry.  Monsieur  Defarge  alighted :  knowing  one  or  two 
of  the  soldiery  there,  and  one  of  the  police.  The  latter  he 
was  intimate  with,  and  affectionately  embraced. 

When  Saint  Antoine  had  again  enfolded  the  Defarges 
in  his  dusky  wings,  and  they,  having  finally  alighted  near 
the  Saint's  boundaries,  were  picking  their  way  on  foot 
through  the  black  mud  and  offal  of  his  streets,  Madame 
Defarge  spoke  to  her  husband : 

"Say  then,  my  friend:  what  did  Jacques  of  the  police 
tell  thee?" 

"Very  little  to-night,  but  all  he  knows.  There  is 
another  spy  commissioned  for  our  quarter.  There  may 
be  many  more  for  all  that  he  can  say,  but  he  knows  of 
one." 

"  Eh  well !  "  said  Madame  Defarge,  raising  her  eyebrows 
with  a  cool  business  air.  "  It  is  necessary  to  register  him. 
How  do  they  call  that  man?  " 

"He  is  English." 

"  So  much  the  better.     His  name?  " 

"Barsad,"  said  Defarge,  making  it  French  by  pronuncia- 
tion. But,  he  had  been  so  careful  to  get  it  accurately,  that 
he  then  spelt  it  with  perfect  correctness. 

"  Barsad, "  repeated  madame.     "  Good.    Christian  name ? ,J 

"John." 

"John  Barsad,"  repeated  madame,  after  murmuring  it 
once  to  herself.     "Good.     His  appearance;  is  it  known? ': 

"Age,  about  forty  years;  height,  about  five  feet  nine; 
black  hair;  complexion  dark;  generally,  rather  handsome 
visage;  eyes  dark,  face  thin,  long,  and  sallow;  nose  aqui- 


208  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

line,  but  not  straight,  having  a  peculiar  inclination  towards 
the  left  cheek;  expression,  therefore,  sinister." 

"Eh  my  faith.  It  is  a  portrait!"  said  madame,  laugh- 
ing.    "He  shall  be  registered  to-morrow." 

They  turned  into  the  wine-shop,  which  was  closed  (for 
it  was  midnight),  and  where  Madame  Defarge  immediately 
took  her  post  at  the  desk,  counted  the  small  moneys  that 
had  been  taken  during  her  absence,  examined  the  stock, 
went  through  the  entries  in  the  book,  made  other  entries 
of  her  own,  checked  the  serving  man  in  every  possible  way, 
and  finally  dismissed  him  to  bed.  Then  she  turned  out  the 
contents  of  the  bowl  of  money  for  the  second  time,  and 
began  knotting  them  up  in  her  handkerchief,  in  a  chain  of 
separate  knots,  for  safe  keeping  through  the  night.  All 
this  while,  Defarge,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  walked 
up  and  down,  complacently  admiring,  but  never  interfer- 
ing; in  which  condition,  indeed,  as  to  the  business  and  his 
domestic  affairs,  he  walked  up  and  down  through  life. 

The  night  was  hot,  and  the  shop,  close  shut  and  sur- 
rounded by  so  foul  a  neighbourhood,  was  ill-smelling. 
Monsieur  Defarge's  olfactory  sense  was  by  no  means  deli- 
cate, but  the  stock  of  wine  smelt  much  stronger  than  it  ever 
tasted,  and  so  did  the  stock  of  rum  and  brandy  and  aniseed. 
He  whiffed  the  compound  of  scents  away,  as  he  put  down 
his  smoked-out  pipe. 

"You  are  fatigued,"  said  madame,  raising  her  glance  as 
she  knotted  the  money.     "  There  are  only  the  usual  odours." 

"I  am  a  little  tired,"  her  husband  acknowledged. 

"You  are  a  little  depressed,  too,"  said  madame,  whose 
quick  eyes  had  never  been  so  intent  on  the  accounts,  but 
they  had  had  a  ray  or  two  for  him.  "Oh,  the  men,  the 
men! " 

"But  my  dear,"  began  Defarge. 

"  But   my   dear ! "    repeated   madame,    nodding    firmly : 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  209 

"but,    my   dear!      You   are   faint  of  heart  to-night,    my 
dear ! " 

"Well,  then,"  said  Defarge,  as  if  a  thought  were  wrung 
out  of  his  breast,  "it  is  a  long  time." 

"It  is  a  long  time,"  repeated  his  wife;  "and  when  is  it 
not  a  long  time?  Vengeance  and  retribution  require  a  long 
time;  it  is  the  rule." 

"  It  does  not  take  a  long  time  to  strike  a  man  with  Light- 
ning," said  Defarge. 

"How  long,"  demanded  madame,  composedly,  "does  it 
take  to  make  and  store  the  lightning?     Tell  me?" 

Defarge  raised  his  head  thoughtfully,  as  if  there  were 
something  in  that,  too. 

"It  does  not  take  a  long  time,"  said  madame,  "for  an 
earthquake  to  swallow  a  town.  Eh  well!  Tell  me  how 
long  it  takes  to  prepare  the  earthquake?" 

"A  long  time,  I  suppose,"  said  Defarge. 

"  But  when  it  is  ready,  it  takes  place,  and  grinds  to  pieces 
everything  before  it.  In  the  mean  time,  it  is  always  pre- 
paring, though  it  is  not  seen  or  heard.  That  is  your  con- 
solation.    Keep  it." 

She  tied  a  knot  with  flashing  eyes,  as  if  it  throttled 
a  foe. 

"I  tell  thee,"  said  madame,  extending  her  right  hand, 
for  emphasis,  "  that  although  it  is  a  long  time  on  the  road, 
it  is  on  the  road  and  coming.  I  tell  thee  it  never  retreats, 
and  never  stops.  I  tell  thee  it  is  always  advancing.  Look 
around  and  consider  the  lives  of  all  the  world  that  we  know, 
consider  the  faces  of  all  the  world  that  we  know,  consider 
the  rage  and  discontent  to  which  the  Jacquerie  addresses 
itself  with  more  and  more  of  certainty  every  hour.  Can 
such  things  last?     Bah!     I  mock  you." 

"My  brave  wife,"  returned  Defarge,  standing  before  her 
with  his  head  a  little  bent,  and  his  hands  clasped  at  his 


210  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

back,  like  a  docile  and  attentive  pupil  before  his  catechist, 
"I  do  not  question  all  this.  But  it  has  lasted  a  long  time, 
and  it  is  possible  —  you  know  well,  my  wife,  it  is  possible 
—  that  it  may  not  come,  during  our  lives." 

"Eh  well!  How  then?"  demanded  madame,  tying  an- 
other knot,  as  if  there  were  another  enemy  strangled. 

"  Well !  "  said  Def  arge  with  a  half  complaining  and  half 
apologetic  shrug.     "We  shall  not  see  the  triumph." 

"We  shall  have  helped  it,"  returned  madame,  with  her 
extended  hand  in  strong  action.  "  Nothing  that  we  do,  is 
done  in  vain.  I  believe,  with  all  my  soul,  that  we  shall 
see  the  triumph.  But  even  if  not,  even  if  I  knew  certainly 
not,  show  me  the  neck  of  an  aristocrat  and  tyrant,  and  still 
I  would " 

There  madame,  with  her  teeth  set,  tied  a  very  terrible 
knot  indeed. 

"  Hold !  "  cried  Def  arge,  reddening  a  little  as  if  he  felt 
charged  with  cowardice;  "I  too,  my  dear,  will  stop  at 
nothing." 

"  Yes !  But  it  is  your  weakness  that  you  sometimes  need 
to  see  your  victim  and  your  opportunity,  to  sustain  you. 
Sustain  yourself  without  that.  When  the  time  comes,  let 
loose  a  tiger  and  a  devil ;  but  wait  for  the  time  with  the  tiger 
and  the  devil  chained  —  not  shown  —  yet  always  ready." 

Madame  enforced  the  conclusion  of  this  piece  of  advice 
by  striking  her  little  counter  with  her  chain  of  money  as  if 
she  knocked  its  brains  out,  and  then  gathering  the  heavy 
handkerchief  under  her  arm  in  a  serene  manner,  and  observ- 
ing that  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 

Next  noontide  saw  the  admirable  woman  in  her  usual  place 
in  the  wine-shop,  knitting  away  assiduously.  A  rose  lay 
beside  her,  and  if  she  now  and  then  glanced  at  the  flower, 
it  was  with  no  infraction  of  her  usual  preoccupied  air. 
There  were  a  few  customers,   drinking  or  not  drinking, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  211 

standing  or  seated,  sprinkled  about.  The  day  was  very  hot, 
and  heaps  of  flies,  who  were  extending  their  inquisitive 
and  adventurous  perquisitions  into  all  the  glutinous  little 
glasses  near  madame,  fell  dead  at  the  bottom.  Their 
decease  made  no  impression  on  the  other  flies  out  prome- 
nading, who  looked  at  them  in  the  coolest  manner  (as  if 
they  themselves  were  elephants,  or  something  as  far  re- 
moved), until  they  met  the  same  fate.  Curious  to  consider 
how  heedless  flies  are !  —  perhaps  they  thought  as  much  at 
Court  that  sunny  summer  day. 

A  figure  entering  at  the  door  threw  a  shadow  on  Madame 
Defarge  which  she  felt  to  be  a  new  one.  She  laid  down  her 
knitting,  and  began  to  pin  her  rose  in  her  head-dress,  before 
she  looked  at  the  figure. 

It  was  curious.  The  moment  Madame  Defarge  took  up 
the  rose,  the  customers  ceased  talking,  and  began  gradually 
to  drop  out  of  the  wine-shop. 

"Good  day,  madame,"  said  the  new  comer. 

"Good  day,  monsieur." 

She  said  it  aloud,  but  added  to  herself,  as  she  resumed 
her  knitting:  "Hah!  Good  day,  age  about  forty,  height 
about  five  feet  nine,  black  hair,  generally  rather  handsome 
visage,  complexion  dark,  eyes  dark,  thin  long  and  sallow 
face,  aquiline  nose  but  not  straight,  having  a  peculiar  in- 
clination towards  the  left  cheek  which  imparts  a  sinister 
expression!     Good  day,  one  and  all!  " 

"Have  the  goodness  to  give  me  a  little  glass  of  old  cog- 
nac, and  a  mouthful  of  cool  fresh  water,  madame." 

Madame  complied  with  a  polite  air. 

"  Marvellous  cognac  this,   madame !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  it  had  ever  been  so  complimented, 
and  Madame  Defarge  knew  enough  of  its  antecedents  to 
know  better.  She  said,  however,  that  the  cognac  was  flat- 
tered, and  took  up  her  knitting.     The  visitor  watched  her 


212  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

fingers  for  a  few  moments,  and  took  the   opportunity  of 
observing  the  place  in  general. 

"You  knit  with  great  skill,  madame." 

"I  am  accustomed  to  it." 

"  A  pretty  pattern  too !  " 

"  You  think  so?"  said  madame,  looking  at  him  with  a 
smile. 

"Decidedly.     May  one  ask  what  it  is  for?" 

"Pastime,"  said  madame,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile, 
while  her  fingers  moved  nimbly. 

"Not  for  use?" 

"That  depends.     I  may  find  a  use  for  it,  one  day.     If  I 

do well,"  said  madame,  drawing  a  breath  and  nodding 

her  head  with  a  stern  kind  of  coquetry,  "I'll  use  it!  " 

It  was  remarkable ;  but,  the  taste  of  Saint  Antoine  seemed 
to  be  decidedly  opposed  to  a  rose  on  the  head-dress  of 
Madame  Defarge.  Two  men  had  entered  separately,  and 
had  been  about  to  order  drink,  when,  catching  sight  of  that 
novelty,  they  faltered,  made  a  pretence  of  looking  about  as 
if  for  some  friend  who  was  not  there,  and  went  away. 
Nor,  of  those  who  had  been  there  when  this  visitor  entered, 
was  there  one  left.  They  had  all  dropped  off.  The  spy 
had  kept  his  eyes  open,  but  had  been  able  to  detect  no  sign. 
They  had  lounged  away  in  a  poverty-stricken,  purposeless, 
accidental  manner,  quite  natural  and  unimpeachable. 

"John,"  thought  madame,  checking  off  her  work  as  her 
fingers  knitted,  and  her  eyes  looked  at  the  stranger.  "  Stay 
long  enough,  and  I  shall  knit  'Bars ad'  before  you  go." 

"You  have  a  husband,  madame?" 

"I  have." 

"Children?" 

"No  children." 

"Business  seems  bad?" 

"Business  is  very  bad;  the  people  are  so  poor." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  213 

"Ah,  the  unfortunate,  miserable  people!  So  oppressed 
too  —  as  you  say. " 

"As  you  say,"  madame  retorted,  correcting  him,  and 
deftly  knitting  an  extra  something  into  his  name  that 
boded  him  no  good. 

"Pardon  me;  certainly  it  was  I  who  said  so,  but  you 
naturally  think  so.     Of  course." 

"I  think?"  returned  madame,  in  a  high  voice.  "I  and 
my  husband  have  enough  to  do  to  keep  this  wine-shop 
open,  without  thinking.  All  we  think,  here,  is,  how  to 
live.  That  is  the  subject  ive  think  of,  and  it  gives  us, 
from  morning  to  night,  enough  to  think  about,  without 
embarrassing  our  heads  concerning  others,  i"  think  for 
others?     No,  no." 

The  spy,  who  was  there  to  pick  up  any  crumbs  he  could 
find  or  make,  did  not  allow  his  baffled  state  to  express  itself 
in  his  sinister  face ;  but,  stood  with  an  air  of  gossiping  gal- 
lantry, leaning  his  elbow  on  Madame  Defarge's  little  coun- 
ter, and  occasionally  sipping  his  cognac. 

"A  bad  business  this,  madame,  of  Gaspard's  execution. 
Ah!  the  poor  Gaspard!  "     With  a  sigh  of  great  compassion. 

"  My  faith ! "  returned  madame,  coolly  and  lightly,  "  if 
people  use  knives  for  such  purposes,  they  have  to  pay  for 
it.  He  knew  beforehand  what  the  price  of  his  luxury  was ; 
he  has  paid  the  price." 

"I  believe,"  said  the  spy,  dropping  his  soft  voice  to  a 
tone  that  invited  confidence,  and  expressing  an  injured 
revolutionary  susceptibility  in  every  muscle  of  his  wicked 
face:  "I  believe  there  is  much  compassion  and  anger  in 
this  neighbourhood,  touching  the  poor  fellow?  Between 
ourselves." 

"Is  there?"  asked  madame,  vacantly. 

"Is  there  not?" 

"  —  Here  is  my  husband !  "  said  Madame  Defarge. 


214  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

As  the  keeper  of  the  wine-shop  entered  at  the  door,  the 
spy  saluted  him  by  touching  his  hat,  and  saying,  with  an 
engaging  smile,  "  Good  day,  Jacques !  "  Defarge  stopped 
short,  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Good  day,  Jacques !  "  the  spy  repeated ;  with  not  quite 
so  much  confidence,  or  quite  so  easy  a  smile  under  the 
stare. 

"You  deceive  yourself,  monsieur,"  returned  the  keeper 
of  the  wine-shop.  "  You  mistake  me  for  another.  That  is 
not  my  name.     I  am  Ernest  Defarge." 

"It  is  all  the  same,"  said  the  spy,  airily,  but  discomfited 
too :  "  good  day !  " 

"  Good  day !  "  answered  Defarge,  dryly. 

"  I  was  saying  to  madame,  with  whom  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  chatting  when  you  entered,  that  they  tell  me  there  is  — 
and  no  wonder !  —  much  sympathy  and  anger  in  Saint 
Antoine,  touching  the  unhappy  fate  of  poor  Gaspard." 

"  No  one  has  told  me  so, "  said  Defarge,  shaking  his  head. 
"I  know  nothing  of  it." 

Having  said  it,  he  passed  behind  the  little  counter,  and 
stood  with  his  hand  on  the  back  of  his  wife's  chair,  look- 
ing over  that  barrier  at  the  person  to  whom  they  were  both 
opposed,  and  whom  either  of  them  would  have  shot  with 
the  greatest  satisfaction. 

The  spy,  well  used  to  his  business,  did  not  change  his 
unconscious  attitude,  but  drained  his  little  glass  of  cognac, 
took  a  sip  of  fresh  water,  and  asked  for  another  glass  of 
cognac.  Madame  Defarge  poured  it  out  for  him,  took  to 
her  knitting  again,  and  hummed  a  little  song  over  it. 

"You  seem  to  know  this  quarter  well;  that  is  to  say, 
better  than  I  do?"  observed  Defarge. 

"  Not  at  all,  but  I  hope  to  know  it  better.  I  am  so  pro- 
foundly interested  in  its  miserable  inhabitants." 

"Hah! "  muttered  Defarge. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  215 

"The  pleasure  of  conversing  with  you,  Monsieur  Defarge, 
recalls  to  me,"  pursued  the  spy,  "that  I  have  the  honour  of 
cherishing  some  interesting  associations  with  your  name." 

"Indeed?"  said  Defarge,  with  much  indifference. 

"  Yes  indeed.  When  Doctor  Manette  was  released,  you 
his  old  domestic  had  the  charge  of  him,  I  know.  He  was 
delivered  to  you.  You  see  I  am  informed  of  the  circum- 
stances?" 

"Such  is  the  fact,  certainly,"  said  Defarge.  He  had  had 
it  conveyed  to  him,  in  an  accidental  touch  of  his  wife's 
elbow  as  she  knitted  and  warbled,  that  he  would  do  best  to 
answer,  but  always  with  brevity. 

"  It  was  to  you, "  said  the  spy,  "  that  his  daughter  came ; 
and  it  was  from  your  care  that  his  daughter  took  him, 
accompanied  by  a  neat  brown  monsieur;  how  is  he  called? 
—  in  a  little  wig  —  Lorry  —  of  the  bank  of  Tellson  and 
Company  —  over  to  England." 

"Such  is  the  fact,"  repeated  Defarge. 

"  Very  interesting  remembrances !  "  said  the  spy.  "  I 
have  known  Doctor  Manette  and  his  daughter,  in  England." 

"Yes,"  said  Defarge. 

"You  don't  hear  much  about  them  now,"  said  the  spy. 

"No,"  said  Defarge. 

"In  effect,"  madame  struck  in,  looking  up  from  her  work 
and  her  little  song,  "we  never  hear  about  them.  We  re- 
ceived the  news  of  their  safe  arrival,  and  perhaps  another 
letter  or  perhaps  two;  but  since  then,  they  have  gradually 
taken  their  road  in  life  —  we,  ours  —  and  we  have  held  no 
correspondence." 

"Perfectly  so,  madame,"  replied  the  spy.  "She  is  going 
to  be  married." 

"Going?"  echoed  madame.  "She  was  pretty  enough  to 
have  been  married  long  ago.  You  English  are  cold,  it 
seems  to  me." 


216  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

"  Oh !     You  know  I  am  English?  " 

"I  perceive  your  tongue  is,"  returned  madame;  "and 
what  the  tongue  is,  I  suppose  the  man  is." 

He  did  not  take  the  identification  as  a  compliment;  but, 
he  made  the  best  of  it,  and  turned  it  off  with  a  laugh. 
After  sipping  his  cognac  to  the  end,  he  added : 

"  Yes,  Miss  Manette  is  going  to  be  married.  But  not  to 
an  Englishman;  to  one  who,  like  herself,  is  French  by 
birth.  And  speaking  of  Gaspard  (ah,  poor  Gaspard!  It 
was  cruel,  cruel !),  it  is  a  curious  thing  that  she  is  going  to 
marry  the  nephew  of  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  for  whom  Gas- 
pard was  exalted  to  that  height  of  so  many  feet;  in  other 
words,  the  present  Marquis.  But  he  lives  unknown  in 
England,  he  is  no  Marquis  there ;  he  is  Mr.  Charles  Darnay . 
D'Aulnais  is  the  name  of  his  mother's  family." 

Madame  Defarge  knitted  steadily,  but  the  intelligence 
had  a  palpable  effect  upon  her  husband.  Do  what  he 
would,  behind  the  little  counter,  as  to  the  striking  of  a 
light  and  the  lighting  of  his  pipe,  he  was  troubled,  and  his 
hand  was  not  trustworthy.  The  spy  would  have  been  no 
spy  if  he  had  failed  to  see  it,  or  to  record  it  in  his  mind. 

Having  made,  at  least,  this  one  hit,  whatever  it  might 
prove  to  be  worth,  and  no  customers  coming  in  to  help  him 
to  any  other,  Mr.  Barsad  paid  for  what  he  had  drunk,  and 
took  his  leave :  taking  occasion  to  say,  in  a  genteel  manner, 
before  he  departed,  that  he  looked  forward  to  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  Monsieur  and  Madame  Defarge  again.  Eor  some 
minutes  after  he  had  emerged  into  the  outer  presence  of 
Saint  Antoine,  the  husband  and  wife  remained  exactly  as 
he  had  left  them,  lest  he  should  come  back. 

"Can  it  be  true,"  said  Defarge,  in  a  low  voice,  looking 
down  at  his  wife  as  he  stood  smoking  with  his  hand  on 
the  back  of  her  chair:  "what  he  has  said  of  Ma'amselle 
Manette?" 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  217 

"As  he  has  said  it,"  returned  madame,  lifting  her  eye- 
brows a  little,  "it  is  probably  false.     But  it  may  be  true." 

"If  it  is "  Defarge  began;  and  stopped. 

"If  it  is?"  repeated  his  wife. 

"  —  And  if  it  does  come,  while  we  live  to  see  it  triumph 
—  I  hope,  for  her  sake,  Destiny  will  keep  her  husband  out 
of  France." 

"Her  husband's  destiny,"  said  Madame  Defarge,  with 
her  usual  composure,  "will  take  him  where  he  is  to  go, 
and  will  lead  him  to  the  end  that  is  to  end  him.  That  is 
all  I  know." 

"But  it  is  very  strange  —  now,  at  least  is  it  not  very 
strange  "  —  said  Defarge,  rather  pleading  with  his  wife  to 
induce  her  to  admit  it,  "  that,  after  all  our  sympathy  for 
Monsieur  her  father  and  herself,  her  husband's  name  should 
be  proscribed  under  your  hand  at  this  moment,  by  the  side 
of  that  infernal  dog's  who  has  just  left  us?" 

"Stranger  things  than  that,  will  happen  when  it  does 
come,"  answered  madame.  "I  have  them  both  here,  of  a 
certainty;  and  they  are  both  here  for  their  merits;  that  is 
enough." 

She  rolled  up  her  knitting  when  she  had  said  those  words, 
and  presently  took  the  rose  out  of  the  handkerchief  that  was 
wound  about  her  head.  Either  Saint  Antoine  had  an  in- 
stinctive sense  that  the  objectionable  decoration  was  gone, 
or  Saint  Antoine  was  on  the  watch  for  its  disappearance; 
howbeit,  the  Saint  took  courage  to  lounge  in,  very  shortly 
afterwards,  and  the  wine-shop  recovered  its  habitual  aspect. 

In  the  evening,  at  which  season  of  all  others,  Saint 
Antoine  turned  himself  inside  out,  and  sat  on  door-steps 
and  window-ledges,  and  came  to  the  corners  of  vile  streets 
and  courts,  for  a  breath  of  air,  Madame  Defarge  with  her 
work  in  her  hand  was  accustomed  to  pass  from  place  to 
place  and  from  group  to  group :  a  Missionary  —  there  were 


218  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

many  like  her  —  such  as  the  world  will  do  well  never  to 
breed  again.  All  the  women  knitted.  They  knitted  worth- 
less things;  but,  the  mechanical  work  was  a  mechanical 
substitute  for  eating  and  drinking;  the  hands  moved  for 
the  jaws  and  the  digestive  apparatus ;  if  the  bony  fingers 
had  been  still,  the  stomachs  would  have  been  more  famine- 
pinched. 

But,  as  the  fingers  went,  the  eyes  went,  and  the  thoughts. 
And  as  Madame  Defarge  moved  on  from  group  to  group,  all 
three  went  quicker  and  fiercer  among  every  little  knot  of 
women  that  she  had  spoken  with,  and  left  behind. 

Her  husband  smoked  at  his  door,  looking  after  her  with 
admiration.  "  A  great  woman, "  said  he,  "  a  strong  woman, 
a  grand  woman,  a  frightfully  grand  woman." 

Darkness  closed  around,  and  then  came  the  ringing  of 
church  bells  and  the  distant  beating  of  the  military  drums 
in  the  Palace  Court-Yard,  as  the  women  sat  knitting,  knit- 
ting. Darkness  encompassed  them.  Another  darkness 
was  closing  in  as  surely,  when  the  church  bells,  then  ring- 
ing pleasantly  in  many  an  airy  steeple  over  France,  should 
be  melted  into  thundering  cannon;  when  the  military  drums 
should  be  beating  to  drown  a  wretched  voice,  that  night 
all  potent  as  the  voice  of  Power  and  Plenty,  Freedom  and 
Life.  So  much  was  closing  in  about  the  women  who  sat 
knitting,  knitting,  that  they  their  very  selves  were  closing 
in  around  a  structure  yet  unbuilt,  where  they  were  to  sit 
knitting,  knitting,  counting  dropping  heads. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  219 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ONE   NIGHT. 

Never  did  the  sun  go  down  with  a  brighter  glory  on  the 
quiet  corner  in  Soho,  than  one  memorable  evening  when  the 
Doctor  and  his  daughter  sat  under  the  plane-tree  together. 
Never  did  the  moon  rise  with  a  milder  radiance  over  great 
London,  than  on  that  night  when  it  found  them  still  seated 
under  the  tree,  and  shone  upon  their  faces  through  its 
leaves. 

Lucie  was  to  be  married  to-morrow.  She  had  reserved 
this  last  evening  for  her  father,  and  they  sat  alone  under 
the  plane-tree. 

"You  are  happy,  my  dear  father?" 

"Quite,  my  child." 

They  had  said  little,  though  they  had  been  there  a  long 
time.  When  it  was  yet  light  enough  to  work  and  read, 
she  had  neither  engaged  herself  in  her  usual  work,  nor  had 
she  read  to  him.  She  had  employed  herself  in  both  ways, 
at  his  side  under  the  tree,  many  and  many  a  time ;  but,  this 
time  was  not  quite  like  any  other,  and  nothing  could  make 
it  so. 

"And  I  am  very  happy  to-night,  dear  father.  I  am 
deeply  happy  in  the  love  that  Heaven  has  so  blessed  my 
love  for  Charles,  and  Charles's  love  for  me.  But,  if  my 
life  were  not  to  be  still  consecrated  to  you,  or  if  my  mar- 
riage were  so  arranged  as  that  it  would  part  us,  even  by 
the  length  of  a  few  of  these  streets,  I  should  be  more  un- 
happy and  self -reproachful  now,  than  I  can  tell  you.  Even 
as  it  is " 

Even  as  it  was,  she  could  not  command  her  voice. 


220  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

In  the  sad  moonlight,  she  clasped  him  by  the  neck,  and 
laid  her  face  upon  his  breast.  In  the  moonlight  which  is 
always  sad,  as  the  light  of  the  sun  itself  is  —  as  the  light 
called  human  life  is  —  at  its  coming  and  its  going. 

"Dearest  dear!  Can  you  tell  me,  this  last  time,  that 
you  feel  quite,  quite  sure,  no  new  affections  of  mine,  and 
no  new  duties  of  mine,  will  ever  interpose  between  us?  I 
know  it  well,  but  do  you  know  it?  In  your  own  heart,  do 
you  feel  quite  certain?" 

Her  father  answered,  with  a  cheerful  firmness  of  convic- 
tion he  could  scarcely  have  assumed,  "  Quite  sure,  my  dar- 
ling! More  than  that,"  he  added,  as  he  tenderly  kissed 
her :  "  my  future  is  far  brighter,  Lucie,  seen  through  your 
marriage,  than  it  could  have  been  —  nay,  than  it  ever  was 
—  without  it." 

"If  I  could  hope  that,  my  father! " 

"Believe  it,  love!  Indeed  it  is  so.  Consider  how  natu- 
ral and  how  plain  it  is,  my  dear,  that  it  should  be  so. 
You,  devoted  and  young,  cannot  fully  appreciate  the  anx- 
iety I  have  felt  that  your  life  should  not  be  wasted " 

She  moved  her  hand  towards  his  lips,  but  he  took  it  in 
his  and  repeated  the  word. 

"  —  wasted,  my  child  —  should  not  be  wasted,  struck 
aside  from  the  natural  order  of  things  —  for  my  sake.  Your 
unselfishness  cannot  entirely  comprehend  how  much  my 
mind  has  gone  on  this ;  but,  only  ask  yourself,  how  could 
my  happiness  be  perfect,  while  yours  was  incomplete?" 

"  If  I  had  never  seen  Charles,  my  father,  I  should  have 
been  quite  happy  with  you." 

He  smiled  at  her  unconscious  admission  that  she  would 
have  been  unhappy  without  Charles,  having  seen  him;  and 
replied : 

"  My  child,  you  did  see  him,  and  it  is  Charles.  If  it  had 
not  been  Charles,  it  would  have  been  another.     Or,  if  it 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  221 

had  been  no  other,  I  should  have  been  the  cause,  and  then 
the  dark  part  of  my  life  would  have  cast  its  shadow  beyond 
myself,  and  would  have  fallen  on  you." 

It  was  the  first  time,  except  at  the  trial,  of  her  ever 
hearing  him  refer  to  the  period  of  his  suffering.  It  gave 
her  a  strange  and  new  sensation  while  his  words  were  in 
her  ears;  and  she  remembered  it  long  afterwards. 

"  See ! "  said  the  Doctor  of  Beauvais,  raising  his  hand 
towards  the  moon.  "  I  have  looked  at  her  from  my  prison- 
window,  when  I  could  not  bear  her  light.  I  have  looked 
at  her  when  it  has  been  such  torture  to  me  to  think  of  her 
shining  upon  what  I  had  lost,  that  I  have  beaten  my  head 
against  my  prison  walls.  I  have  looked  at  her,  in  a  state 
so  dulled  and  lethargic,  that  I  have  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  number  of  horizontal  lines  I  could  draw  across  her  at 
the  full,  and  the  number  of  perpendicular  lines  with  which 
I  could  intersect  them."  He  added  in  his  inward  and  pon- 
dering manner,  as  he  looked  at  the  moon,  "  It  was  twenty 
either  way,  I  remember,  and  the  twentieth  was  difficult  to 
squeeze  in." 

The  strange  thrill  with  which  she  heard  him  go  back  to 
that  time,  deepened  as  he  dwelt  upon  it;  but,  there  was 
nothing  to  shock  her  in  the  manner  of  his  reference.  He 
only  seemed  to  contrast  his  present  cheerfulness  and  felic- 
ity with  the  dire  endurance  that  was  over. 

"I  have  looked  at  her,  speculating  thousands  of  times 
upon  the  unborn  child  from  whom  I  had  been  rent.  Whether 
it  was  alive.  Whether  it  had  been  born  alive,  or  the  poor 
mother's  shock  had  killed  it.  Whether  it  was  a  son  who 
would  some  day  avenge  his  father.  (There  was  a  time  in 
my  imprisonment,  when  my  desire  for  vengeance  was  un- 
bearable.) Whether  it  was  a  son  who  would  never  know 
his  father's  story;  who  might  even  live  to  weigh  the  pos- 
sibility of  his  father's  having  disappeared  of  his  own  will 


222  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and  act.     Whether  it  was  a  daughter,  who  would  grow  to 
be  a  woman." 

She  drew  closer  to  him,  and  kissed  his  cheek  and  his 
hand. 

"I  have  pictured  my  daughter,  to  myself,  as  perfectly 
forgetful  of  me  —  rather,  altogether  ignorant  of  me,  and 
unconscious  of  me.  I  have  cast  up  the  years  of  her  age, 
year  after  year.  I  have  seen  her  married  to  a  man  who 
knew  nothing  of  my  fate.  I  have  altogether  perished  from 
the  remembrance  of  the  living,  and  in  the  next  generation 
my  place  was  a  blank. " 

"  My  father !  Even  to  hear  that  you  had  such  thoughts 
of  a  daughter  who  never  existed,  strikes  to  my  heart  as  if 
I  had  been  that  child." 

"You,  Lucie?  It  is  out  of  the  consolation  and  restora- 
tion you  have  brought  to  me,  that  these  remembrances 
arise,  and  pass  between  us  and  the  moon  on  this  last  night. 
—  What  did  I  say,  just  now?" 

"  She  knew  nothing  of  you.     She  cared  nothing  for  you." 

"  So !  But  on  other  moonlight  nights,  when  the  sadness 
and  the  silence  have  touched  me  in  a  different  way  —  have 
affected  me  with  something  as  like  a  sorrowful  sense  of 
peace,  as  any  emotion  that  had  pain  for  its  foundations 
could  —  I  have  imagined  her  as  coming  to  me  in  my  cell, 
and  leading  me  out  into  the  freedom  beyond  the  fortress. 
I  have  seen  her  image  in  the  moonlight,  often,  as  I  now 
see  you ;  except  that  I  never  held  her  in  my  arms ;  it  stood 
between  the  little  grated  window  and  the  door.  But,  you 
understand  that  that  was  not  the  child  I  am  speaking  of  ?  " 

" The  figure  was  not;  the  —  the  —  image ;  the  fancy? ,: 

"  No.  That  was  another  thing.  It  stood  before  my  dis- 
turbed sense  of  sight,  but  it  never  moved.  The  phantom 
that  my  mind  pursued,  was  another  and  more  real  child. 
Of  her  outward  appearance  I  know  no  more  than  that  she 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  223 

was  like  her  mother.  The  other  had  that  likeness  too  —  as 
you  have  —  but  was  not  the  same.  Can  you  follow  me, 
Lucie?  Hardly,  I  think?  I  doubt  you  must  have  been  a 
solitary  prisoner  to  understand  these  perplexed  distinc- 
tions." 

His  collected  and  calm  manner  could  not  prevent  her 
blood  from  running  cold,  as  he  thus  tried  to  anatomise  his 
old  condition. 

"  In  that  more  peaceful  state,  I  have  imagined  her,  in  the 
moonlight,  coming  to  me  and  taking  me  out  to  show  me 
that  the  home  of  her  married  life  was  full  of  her  loving 
lemembrance  of  her  lost  father.  My  picture  was  in  her 
room,  and  I  was  in  her  prayers.  Her  life  was  active, 
cheerful,  useful;  but  my  poor  history  pervaded  it  all." 

"I  was  that  child,  my  father.  I  was  not  half  so  good, 
but  in  my  love  that  was  I." 

"And  she  showed  me  her  children,"  said  the  Doctor  of 
Beauvais,  "  and  they  had  heard  of  me,  and  had  been  taught 
to  pity  me.  When  they  passed  a  prison  of  the  State,  they 
kept  far  from  its  frowning  walls,  and  looked  up  at  its  bars, 
and  spoke  in  whispers.  She  could  never  deliver  me;  I 
imagined  that  she  always  brought  me  back  after  showing 
me  such  things.  But  then,  blessed  with  the  relief  of  tears, 
I  fell  upon  my  knees,  and  blessed  her." 

"I  am  that  child,  I  hope,  my  father.  0  my  dear,  my 
dear,  will  you  bless  me  as  fervently  to-morrow?" 

"  Lucie,  I  recall  these  old  troubles  in  the  reason  that  I 
have  to-night  for  loving  you  better  than  words  can  tell, 
and  thanking  God  for  my  great  happiness.  My  thoughts, 
when  they  were  wildest,  never  rose  near  the  happiness  that 
I  have  known  with  you,  and  that  we  have  before  us." 

He  embraced  her,  solemnly  commended  her  to  Heaven, 
and  humbly  thanked  Heaven  for  having  bestowed  her  on 
him.     By-and-by,  they  went  into  the  house. 


224  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

There  was  no  one  bidden  to  the  marriage  but  Mr.  Lorry; 
there  was  even  to  be  no  bridesmaid  but  the  gaunt  Miss 
Pross.  The  marriage  was  to  make  no  change  in  their  place 
of  residence ;  they  had  been  able  to  extend  it,  by  taking  to 
themselves  the  upper  rooms  formerly  belonging  to  the 
apocryphal  invisible  lodger,  and  they  desired  nothing  more. 

Doctor  Manette  was  very  cheerful  at  the  little  supper. 
They  were  only  three  at  table,  and  Miss  Pross  made  the 
third.  He  regretted  that  Charles  was  not  there ;  was  more 
than  half  disposed  to  object  to  the  loving  little  plot  that 
kept  him  away;  and  drank  to  him  affectionately. 

So,  the  time  came  for  him  to  bid  Lucie  good  night,  and 
they  separated.  But,  in  the  stillness  of  the  third  hour  of 
the  morning,  Lucie  came  down-stairs  again,  and  stole  into 
his  room :  not  free  from  unshaped  fears,  beforehand. 

All  things,  however,  were  in  their  places ;  all  was  quiet ; 
and  he  lay  asleep,  his  white  hair  picturesque  on  the  un- 
troubled pillow,  and  his  hands  lying  quiet  on  the  coverlet. 
She  put  her  needless  candle  in  the  shadow  at  a  distance, 
crept  up  to  his  bed,  and  put  her  lips  to  his;  then,  leaned 
over  him  and  looked  at  him. 

Into  his  handsome  face,  the  bitter  waters  of  captivity 
had  worn ;  but,  he  covered  up  their  tracks  with  a  determi- 
nation so  strong,  that  he  held  the  mastery  of  them,  even 
in  his  sleep.  A  more  remarkable  face  in  its  quiet,  reso- 
lute, and  guarded  struggle  with  an  unseen  assailant,  was  not 
to  be  beheld  in  all  the  wide  dominions  of  sleep,  that  night. 

She  timidly  laid  her  hand  on  his  dear  breast,  and  put  up 
a  prayer  that  she  might  ever  be  as  true  to  him  as  her  love 
aspired  to  be,  and  as  his  sorrows  deserved.  Then,  she 
withdrew  her  hand,  and  kissed  his  lips  once  more,  and  went 
away.  So,  the  sunrise  came,  and  the  shadows  of  the  leaves 
of  the  plane-tree  moved  upon  his  face,  as  softly  as  her  lips 
had  moved  in  praying  for  him. 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  225 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

NINE    DAYS. 

The  marriage  day  was  shining  brightly,  and  they  were 
ready  outside  the  closed  door  of  the  Doctor's  room,  where 
he  was  speaking  with  Charles  Darnay.  They  were  ready 
to  go  to  church ;  the  beautiful  bride,  Mr.  Lorry,  and  Miss 
Pross  —  to  whom  the  event,  through  a  gradual  process  of 
reconcilement  to  the  inevitable,  would  have  been  one  of 
absolute  bliss,  but  for  the  yet  lingering  consideration  that 
her  brother  Solomon  should  have  been  the  bridegroom. 

"And  so,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  who  could  not  sufficiently 
admire  the  bride,  and  who  had  been  moving  round  her  to 
take  in  every  point  of  her  quiet,  pretty  dress ;  "  and  so  it 
was  for  this,  my  sweet  Lucie,  that  I  brought  you  across  the 
Channel,  such  a  baby !  Lord  bless  me !  How  little  I  thought 
what  I  was  doing.  How  lightly  I  valued  the  obligation  I 
was  conferring  on  my  friend  Mr.  Charles !  " 

"You  didn't  mean  it,"  remarked  the  matter-of-fact  Miss 
Pross,  "and  therefore  how  could  you  know  it?    Nonsense!  " 

"Really?  Well;  but  don't  cry,"  said  the  gentle  Mr. 
Lorry. 

"I  am  not  crying,"  said  Miss  Pross;  "you  are." 

"I,  my  Pross?"  (By  this  time,  Mr.  Lorry  dared  to  be 
pleasant  with  her,  on  occasion.) 

"You  were  just  now;  I  saw  you  do  it,  and  I  don't  won- 
der at  it.  Such  a  present  of  plate  as  you  have  made  'em, 
is  enough  to  bring  tears  into  anybody's  eyes.  There's  not 
a  fork  or  a  spoon  in  the  collection,"  said  Miss  Pross,  "that 
I  didn't  cry  over,  last  night  after  the  box  came,  till  I 
couldn't  see  it." 


226  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"I  am  highly  gratified,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "though,  upon 
my  honour,  I  had  no  intention  of  rendering  those  trifling 
articles  of  remembrance,  invisible  to  any  one.  Dear  me! 
This  is  an  occasion  that  makes  a  man  speculate  on  all  he 
has  lost.  Dear,  dear,  dear!  To  think  that  there  might 
have  been  a  Mrs.  Lorry,  any  time  these  fifty  years  almost!  " 

"  Not  at  all !  "     From  Miss  Pross. 

"You  think  there  never  might  have  been  a  Mrs.  Lorry?" 
asked  the  gentleman  of  that  name. 

"  Pooh !  "  rejoined  Miss  Pross ;  "  you  were  a  bachelor  in 
your  cradle." 

"  Well ! "  observed  Mr.  Lorry,  beamingly  adjusting  his 
little  wig,  "that  seems  probable,  too." 

"And  you  were  cut  out  for  a  bachelor,"  pursued  Miss 
Pross,  "before  you  were  put  in  your  cradle." 

"Then,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "that  I  was  very  un- 
handsomely dealt  with,  and  that  I  ought  to  have  had  a 
voice  in  the  selection  of  my  pattern.  Enough !  Now,  my 
dear  Lucie,"  drawing  his  arm  soothingly  round  her  waist, 
"  I  hear  them  moving  in  the  next  room,  and  Miss  Pross  and 
I,  as  two  formal  folks  of  business,  are  anxious  not  to  lose 
the  final  opportunity  of  saying  something  to  you  that  you 
wish  to  hear.  You  leave  your  good  father,  my  dear,  in 
hands  as  earnest  and  as  loving  as  your  own;  he  shall  be 
taken  every  conceivable  care  of;  during  the  next  fortnight, 
while  you  are  in  Warwickshire  and  thereabouts,  even  Tell- 
son's  shall  go  to  the  wall  (comparatively  speaking)  befoie 
him.  And  when,  at  the  fortnight's  end,  he  comes  to  join 
you  and  your  beloved  husband,  on  your  other  fortnight's 
trip  in  Wales,  you  shall  say  that  we  have  sent  him  to  you 
in  the  best  health  and  in  the  happiest  frame.  Now,  I  hear 
Somebody's  step  coming  to  the  door.  Let  me  kiss  my  dear 
girl  with  an  old-fashioned  bachelor  blessing,  before  Some- 
bodv  comes  to  claim  his  own." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  227 

For  a  moment,  he  held  the  fair  face  from  him  to  look  at 
the  well-remembered  expression  on  the  forehead,  and  then 
laid  the  bright  golden  hair  against  his  little  brown  wig, 
with  a  genuine  tenderness  and  delicacy,  which,  if  such 
things  be  old  fashioned,  were  as  old  as  Adam. 

The  door  of  the  Doctor's  room  opened,  and  he  came  out 
with  Charles  Darnay.  He  was  so  deadly  pale  —  which  had 
not  been  the  case  when  they  went  in  together  —  that  no 
vestige  of  colour  was  to  be  seen  in  his  face.  But,  in  the 
composure  of  his  manner  he  was  unaltered,  except  that  to 
the  shrewd  glance  of  Mr.  Lorry  it  disclosed  some  shadowy 
indication  that  the  old  air  of  avoidance  and  dread  had  lately 
passed  over  him,  like  a  cold  wind. 

He  gave  his  arm  to  his  daughter,  and  took  her  down- 
stairs to  the  chariot  which  Mr.  Lorry  had  hired  in  honour 
of  the  day.  The  rest  followed  in  another  carriage,  and 
soon,  in  a  neighbouring  church  where  no  strange  eyes 
looked  on,  Charles  Darnay  and  Lucie  Manette  were  happily 
married. 

Besides  the  glancing  tears  that  shone  among  the  smiles 
of  the  little  group  when  it  was  done,  some  diamonds,  very 
bright  and  sparkling,  glanced  on  the  bride's  hand,  which 
were  newly  released  from  the  dark  obscurity  of  one  of  Mr. 
Lorry's  pockets.  They  returned  home  to  breakfast,  and  all 
went  well,  and  in  due  course  the  golden  hair  that  had 
mingled  with  the  poor  shoemaker's  white  locks  in  the  Paris 
garret,  were  mingled  with  them  again  in  the  morning  sun- 
light, on  the  threshold  of  the  door  at  parting. 

It  was  a  hard  parting,  though  it  was  not  for  long.  But 
her  father  cheered  her,  and  said  at  last,  gently  disengaging 
himself  from  her  enfolding  arms,  "  Take  her,  Charles !  She 
is  yours !  "  And  her  agitated  hand  waved  to  them  from  a 
chaise  window,  and  she  was  gone. 

The  corner  being  out  of  the  way  of  the  idle  and  curious, 


228  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and  the  preparations  having  been  very  simple  and  few,  the 
Doctor,  Mr.  Lorry,  and  Miss  Pross,  were  left  quite  alone. 
It  was  when  they  turned  into  the  welcome  shade  of  the 
cool  old  hall,  that  Mr.  Lorry  observed  a  great  change  to 
have  come  over  the  Doctor;  as  if  the  golden  arm  uplifted 
there,  had  struck  him  a  poisoned  blow. 

He  had  naturally  repressed  much,  and  some  revulsion 
might  have  been  expected  in  him  when  the  occasion  for 
repression  was  gone.  But,  it  was  the  old  scared  lost  look 
that  troubled  Mr.  Lorry ;  and  through  his  absent  manner  of 
clasping  his  head  and  drearily  wandering  away  into  his 
own  room  when  they  got  up-stairs,  Mr.  Lorry  was  reminded 
of  Defarge  the  wine-shop  keeper,  and  the  starlight  ride. 

"I  think,"  he  whispered  to  Miss  Pross,  after  anxious 
consideration,  "I  think  we  had  best  not  speak  to  him  just 
now,  or  at  all  disturb  him.  I  must  look  in  at  Tellson's; 
so  I  will  go  there  at  once  and  come  back  presently.  Then, 
we  will  take  him  a  ride  into  the  country,  and  dine  there, 
and  all  will  be  well." 

It  was  easier  for  Mr.  Lorry  to  look  in  at  Tellson's,  than 
to  look  out  of  Tellson's.  He  was  detained  two  hours. 
When  he  came  back,  he  ascended  the  old  staircase  alone, 
having  asked  no  question  of  the  servant ;  going  thus  into 
the  Doctor's  rooms,  he  was  stopped  by  a  low  sound  of 
knocking. 

"Good  God!  "  he  said,  with  a  start.     "What's  that?" 

Miss  Pross,  with  a  terrified  face,  was  at  his  ear.  "O 
me,  O  me !  All  is  lost !  "  cried  she,  wringing  her  hands. 
"What  is  to  be  told  to  Ladybird?  He  doesn't  know  me, 
and  is  making  shoes ! " 

Mr.  Lorry  said  what  he  could  to  calm  her,  and  went 
himself  into  the  Doctor's  room.  The  bench  was  turned 
towards  the  light,  as  it  had  been  when  he  had  seen  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  229 

shoemaker  at  his  work  before,  and  his  head  was  bent  down, 
and  he  was  very  busy. 

"Doctor  Manette.     My  dear  friend,  Doctor  Manette!  " 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  —  half  inquir- 
ingly, half  as  if  he  were  angry  at  being  spoken  to  —  and 
bent  over  his  work  again. 

He  had  laid  aside  his  coat  and  waistcoat;  his  shirt  was 
open  at  the  throat,  as  it  used  to  be  when  he  did  that  work ; 
and  even  the  old  haggard  faded  surface  of  face  had  come 
back  to  him.  He  worked  hard  —  impatiently  —  as  if  in 
some  sense  of  having  been  interrupted. 

Mr.  Lorry  glanced  at  the  work  in  his  hand,  and  observed 
that  it  was  a  shoe  of  the  old  size  and  shape.  He  took  up 
another  that  was  lying  by  him,  and  asked  him  what  it  was? 

"A  young  lady's  walking  shoe,"  he  muttered,  without 
looking  up.  "It  ought  to  have  been  finished  long  ago. 
Let  it  be." 

"  But,  Doctor  Manette.     Look  at  me !  " 

He  obeyed,  in  the  old  mechanically  submissive  manner, 
without  pausing  in  his  work. 

"You  know  me,  my  dear  friend?  Think  again.  This 
is  not  your  proper  occupation.     Think,  dear  friend !  " 

Nothing  would  induce  him  to  speak  more.  He  looked 
up,  for  an  instant  at  a  time,  when  he  was  requested  to  do 
so;  but,  no  persuasion  could  extract  a  word  from  him. 
He  worked,  and  worked,  and  worked,  in  silence,  and  words 
fell  on  him  as  they  would  have  fallen  on  an  echoless  wall, 
or  on  the  air.  The  only  ray  of  hope  that  Mr.  Lorry  could 
discover,  was,  that  he  sometimes  furtively  looked  up  with- 
out being  asked.  In  that,  there  seemed  a  faint  expression 
of  curiosity  or  perplexity  —  as  though  he  were  trying  to 
reconcile  some  doubts  in  his  mind. 

Two  things  at  once  impressed  themselves  on  Mr.  Lorry, 
as  important  above  all  others;  the  first,  that  this  must  be 


230  A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

kept  secret  from  Lucie;  the  second,  that  it  must  be  kept 
secret  from  all  who  knew  him.  In  conjunction  with  Miss 
Pross,  he  took  immediate  steps  towards  the  latter  precau- 
tion, by  giving  out  that  the  Doctor  was  not  well,  and  re- 
quired a  few  days  of  complete  rest.  In  aid  of  the  kind 
deception  to  be  practised  on  his  daughter,  Miss  Pross  was 
to  write,  describing  his  having  been  called  away  profes- 
sionally, and  referring  to  an  imaginary  letter  of  two  or 
three  hurried  lines  in  his  own  hand,  represented  to  have 
been  addressed  to  her  by  the  same  post. 

These  measures,  advisable  to  be  taken  in  any  case,  Mr. 
Lorry  took  in  the  hope  of  his  coming  to  himself.  If  that 
should  happen  soon,  he  kept  another  course  in  reserve; 
which  was,  to  have  a  certain  opinion  that  he  thought  the 
best,  on  the  Doctor's  case. 

In  .the  hope  of  his  recovery,  and  of  resort  to  this  third 
course  being  thereby  rendered  practicable,  Mr.  Lorry  re- 
solved to  watch  him  attentively,  with  as  little  appearance 
as  possible  of  doing  so.  He  therefore  made  arrangements 
to  absent  himself  from  Tellson's  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  and  took  his  post  by  the  window  in  the  same  room. 

He  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  it  was  worse  than 
useless  to  speak  to  him,  since,  on  being  pressed,  he  became 
worried.  He  abandoned  that  attempt  on  the  first  day,  and 
resolved  merely  to  keep  himself  always  before  him,  as  a 
silent  protest  against  the  delusion  into  which  he  had  fallen, 
or  was  falling.  He  remained,  therefore,  in  his  seat  near 
the  window,  reading  and  writing,  and  expressing  in  as  many 
pleasant  and  natural  ways  as  he  could  think  of,  that  it  was 
a  free  place. 

Doctor  Manette  took  what  was  given  him  to  eat  and 
drink,  and  worked  on,  that  first  day,  until  it  was  too  dark 
to  see  —  worked  on,  half  an  hour  after  Mr.  Lorry  could  not 
have  seen,  for  his  life,  to  read  or  write.     When  he  put  his 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  231 

tools  aside  as  useless,  until  morning,  Mr.  Lorry  rose  and 
said  to  him : 

"Will  you  go  out?" 

He  looked  down  at  the  floor  on  either  side  of  him  in  the 
old  manner,  looked  up  in  the  old  manner  and  repeated  in 
the  old  low  voice : 

"  Out?  " 

"Yes;  for  a  walk  with  me.     Why  not? " 

He  made  no  effort  to  say  why  not,  and  said  not  a  word  more. 
But,  Mr.  Lorry  thought  he  saw,  as  he  leaned  forward  on 
his  bench  in  the  dusk,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his 
head  in  his  hands,  that  he  was  in  some  misty  way  asking 
himself,  "  Why  not? ':  The  sagacity  of  the  man  of  business 
perceived  an  advantage  here,  and  determined  to  hold  it. 

Miss  Pross  and  he  divided  the  night  into  two  watches, 
and  observed  him  at  intervals  from  the  adjoining  room. 
He  paced  up  and  down  for  a  long  time  before  he  lay  down ; 
but,  when  he  did  finally  lay  himself  down,  he  fell  asleep. 
In  the  morning,  he  was  up  betimes,  and  went  straight  to 
his  bench  and  to  work. 

On  this  second  day,  Mr.  Lorry  saluted  him  cheerfully  by 
his  name,  and  spoke  to  him  on  topics  that  had  been  of  late 
familiar  to  them.  He  returned  no  reply,  but  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  heard  what  was  said,  and  that  he  thought 
about  it,  however  confusedly.  This  encouraged  Mr.  Lorry 
to  have  Miss  Pross  in  with  her  work,  several  times  during 
the  day;  at  those  times,  they  quietly  spoke  of  Lucie,  and 
of  her  father  then  present,  precisely  in  their  usual  manner, 
and  as  if  there  were  nothing  amiss.  This  was  done  with- 
out any  demonstrative  accompaniment,  not  long  enough,  or 
often  enough  to  harass  him;  and  it  lightened  Mr.  Lorry's 
friendly  heart  to  believe  that  he  looked  up  oftener,  and 
that  he  appeared  to  be  stirred  by  some  perception  of  in- 
consistencies surrounding  him. 


232  A   TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES. 

When  it  fell  dark  again,  Mr.  Lorry  asked  him  as  before : 

"Dear  Doctor,  will  yon  go  out?" 

As  before,  he  repeated,  "Ont?" 

"Yes;  for  a  walk  with  me.     Why  not?" 

This  time,  Mr.  Lorry  feigned  to  go  out  when  he  conld 
extract  no  answer  from  him,  and,  after  remaining  absent 
for  an  hour,  returned.  In  the  mean  while,  the  Doctor  had 
removed  to  the  seat  in  the  window,  and  had  sat  there  look- 
ing down  at  the  plane-tree;  but,  on  Mr.  Lorry's  return,  he 
slipped  away  to  his  bench. 

The  time  went  very  slowly  on,  and  Mr.  Lorry's  hope 
darkened,  and  his  heart  grew  heavier  again,  and  grew  yet 
heavier  and  heavier  every  day.  The  third  day  came  and 
went,  the  fourth,  the  fifth.  Five  days,  six  days,  seven 
days,  eight  days,  nine  days. 

With  a  hope  ever  darkening,  and  with  a  heart  always 
growing  heavier  and  heavier,  Mr.  Lorry  passed  through 
this  anxious  time.  The  secret  was  well  kept,  and  Lucie 
was  unconscious  and  happy ;  but,  he  could  not  fail  to  ob- 
serve that  the  shoemaker,  whose  hand  had  been  a  little  out 
at  first,  was  growing  dreadfully  skilful,  and  that  he  had 
never  been  so  intent  on  his  work,  and  that  his  hands  had 
never  been  so  nimble  and  expert,  as  in  the  dusk  of  the 
ninth  evening. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

AN    OPINION. 


Worn  out  by  anxious  watching,  Mr.  Lorry  fell  asleep 
at  his  post.  On  the  tenth  morning  of  his  suspense,  he  was 
startled  by  the  shining  of  the  sun  into  the  room  where 
a  heavy  slumber  had  overtaken  him  when  it  was  dark 
night. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  233 

He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  roused  himself;  but  he  doubted, 
when  he  had  done  so,  whether  he  was  not  still  asleep. 
For,  going  to  the  door  of  the  Doctor's  room  and  looking  in, 
he  perceived  that  the  shoemaker's  bench  and  tools  were  put 
aside  again,  and  that  the  Doctor  himself  sat  reading  at  the 
window.  He  was  in  his  usual  morning  dress,  and  his  face 
(which  Mr.  Lorry  could  distinctly  see),  though  still  very 
pale,  was  calmly  studious  and  attentive. 

Even  when  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  he  was  awake, 
Mr.  Lorry  felt  giddily  uncertain  for  some  few  moments 
whether  the  late  shoemaking  might  not  be  a  disturbed  dream 
of  his  own;  for,  did  not  his  eyes  show  him  his  friend  before 
him  in  his  accustomed  clothing  and  aspect,  and  employed 
as  usual ;  and  was  there  any  sign  within  their  range,  that 
the  change  of  which  he  had  so  strong  an  impression  had 
actually  happened? 

It  was  but  the  inquiry  of  his  first  confusion  and  aston- 
ishment, the  answer  being  obvious.  If  the  impression  were 
not  produced  by  a  real  corresponding,  and  sufficient  cause, 
how  came  he,  Jarvis  Lorry,  there?  How  came  he  to  have 
fallen  asleep,  in  his  clothes,  on  the  sofa  in  Doctor  Manette's 
consulting-room,  and  to  be  debating  these  points  outside 
the  Doctor's  bedroom  door  in  the  early  morning? 

Within  a  few  minutes,  Miss  Pross  stood  whispering  at 
his  side.  If  he  had  had  any  particle  of  doubt  left,  her  talk 
would  of  necessity  have  resolved  it;  but  he  was  by  that 
time  clear-headed,  and  had  none.  He  advised  that  they 
should  let  the  time  go  by  until  the  regular  breakfast-hour, 
and  should  then  meet  the  Doctor  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
occurred.  If  he  appeared  to  be  in  his  customary  state  of 
mind,  Mr.  Lorry  would  then  cautiously  proceed  to  seek 
direction  and  guidance  from  the  opinion  he  had  been,  in 
his  anxiety,  so  anxious  to  obtain. 

Miss   Pross,    submitting   herself   to   his    judgment,    the 


234  A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES. 

scheme  was  worked  out  with  care.  Having  abundance  of 
time  for  his  usual  methodical  toilette,  Mr.  Lorry  presented 
himself  at  the  breakfast-hour  in  his  usual  white  linen  and 
with  his  usual  neat  leg.  The  Doctor  was  summoned  in  the 
usual  way,  and  came  to  breakfast. 

So  far  as  it  was  possible  to  comprehend  him  without 
overstepping  those  delicate  and  gradual  approaches  which 
Mr.  Lorry  felt  to  be  the  only  safe  advance,  he  at  first  sup- 
posed that  his  daughter's  marriage  had  taken  place  yester- 
day. An  incidental  allusion,  purposely  thrown  out,  to  the 
day  of  the  week,  and  the  day  of  the  month,  set  him  think- 
ing and  counting,  and  evidently  made  him  uneasy.  In  all 
other  respects,  however,  he  was  so  composedly  himself, 
that  Mr.  Lorry  determined  to  have  the  aid  he  sought.  And 
that  aid  was  his  own. 

Therefore,  when  the  breakfast  was  done  and  cleared 
away,  and  he  and  the  Doctor  were  left  together,  Mr.  Lorry 
said,  feelingly: 

"  My  dear  Manette,  I  am  anxious  to  have  your  opinion, 
in  confidence,  on  a  very  curious  case  in  which  I  am  deeply 
interested;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  very  curious  to  me;  per- 
haps, to  your  better  information  it  may  be  less  so." 

Glancing  at  his  hands,  which  were  discoloured  by  his  late 
work,  the  Doctor  looked  troubled,  and  listened  attentively. 
He  had  already  glanced  at  his  hands  more  than  once. 

"Doctor  Manette,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  touching  him  affec- 
tionately on  the  arm,  "  the  case  is  the  case  of  a  particularly 
dear  friend  of  mine.  Pray  give  your  mind  to  it,  and  advise 
me  well  for  his  sake  —  and  above  all  for  his  daughter's  — 
his  daughter's,  my  dear  Manette." 

"  If  I  understand, "  said  the  Doctor,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
"  some  mental  shock ?  " 

"  Yes ! " 

"Be  explicit,"  said  the  Doctor.     "Spare  no  detail." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  235 

Mr.  Lorry  saw  that  they  understood  one  another,  and 
proceeded. 

"My  dear  Manette,  it  is  the  case  of  an  old  and  a  pro- 
longed shock,  of  great  acuteness  and  severity,  to  the  affec- 
tions, the  feelings,  the  —  the  —  as  you  express  it  —  the 
mind.  The  mind.  It  is  the  case  of  a  shock  under  which 
the  sufferer  was  borne  down,  one  cannot  say  for  how  long, 
because  I  believe  he  cannot  calculate  the  time  himself,  and 
there  are  no  other  means  of  getting  at  it.  It  is  the  case  of 
a  shock  from  which  the  sufferer  recovered,  by  a  process 
that  he  cannot  trace  himself  —  as  I  once  heard  him  publicly 
relate  in  a  striking  manner.  It  is  the  case  of  a  shock  from 
which  he  has  recovered,  so  completely,  as  to  be  a  highly 
intelligent  man,  capable  of  close  application  of  mind,  and 
great  exertion  of  body,  and  of  constantly  making  fresh 
additions  to  his  stock  of  knowledge,  which  was  already  very 
large.  But,  unfortunately,  there  has  been,"  he  paused  and 
took  a  deep  breath  —  "a  slight  relapse." 

The  Doctor,  in  a  low  voice,  asked,  "  Of  how  long  dura- 
tion?" 

"Nine  days  and  nights." 

"How  did  it  show  itself?  I  infer,"  glancing  at  his 
hands  again,  "  in  the  resumption  of  some  old  pursuit  con- 
nected with  the  shock?" 

"That  is  the  fact." 

"Now,  did  you  ever  see  him,"  asked  the  Doctor,  dis- 
tinctly and  collectedly,  though  in  the  same  low  voice,  "  en- 
gaged in  that  pursuit  originally?  " 

"Once." 

"And  when  the  relapse  fell  on  him,  was  he  in  most  re- 
spects—  or  in  all  respects  —  as  he  was  then?" 

"I  think,  in  all  respects." 

"You  spoke  of  his  daughter.  Does  his  daughter  know 
of  the  relapse?" 


236  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  No.  It  has  been  kept  from  her,  and  I  hope  will  always 
be  kept  from  her.  It  is  known  only  to  myself,  and  to  one 
other  who  may  be  trusted." 

The  Doctor  grasped  his  hand,  and  murmured,  "  That  was 
very  kind.  That  was  very  thoughtful!"  Mr.  Lorry 
grasped  his  hand  in  return,  and  neither  of  the  two  spoke 
for  a  little  while. 

"Now,  my  dear  Manette,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  at  length,  in 
his  most  considerate  and  most  affectionate  way,  "I  am  a 
mere  man  of  business,  and  unfit  to  cope  with  such  intricate 
and  difficult  matters.  I  do  not  possess  the  kind  of  informa- 
tion necessary;  I  do  not  possess  the  kind  of  intelligence;  I 
want  guiding.  There  is  no  man  in  this  world  on  whom  I 
could  so  rely  for  right  guidance,  as  on  you.  Tell  me,  how 
does  this  relapse  come  about?  Is  there  danger  of  another? 
Could  a  repetition  of  it  be  prevented?  How  should  a  repe- 
tition of  it  be  treated?  How  does  it  come  about  at  all? 
What  can  I  do  for  my  friend?  No  man  ever  can  have  been 
more  desirous  in  his  heart  to  serve  a  friend,  than  I  am  to 
serve  mine,  if  I  knew  how.  But  I  don't  know  how  to 
originate,  in  such  a  case.  If  your  sagacity,  knowledge, 
and  experience,  could  put  me  on  the  right  track,  I  might 
be  able  to  do  so  much;  unenlightened  and  undirected,  I 
can  do  so  little.  Pray  discuss  it  with  me;  pray  enable  me 
to  see  it  a  little  more  clearly,  and  teach  me  how  to  be  a 
little  more  useful." 

Doctor  Manette  sat  meditating  after  these  earnest  words 
were  spoken,  and  Mr.  Lorry  did  not  press  him. 

" I  think  it  probable,"  said  the  Doctor,  breaking  silence 
with  an  effort,  "that  the  relapse  you  have  described,  my 
dear  friend,  was  not  quite  unforeseen  by  its  subject." 

"Was  it  dreaded  by  him?"  Mr.  Lorry  ventured  to  ask. 

"Very  much."  He  said  it  with  an  involuntary  shudder. 
"You  have  no  idea  how  such  an  apprehension  weighs  on 


A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  237 

the  sufferer's  mind,  and  how  difficult  —  how  almost  impos- 
sible —  it  is,  for  him  to  force  himself  to  utter  a  word  upon 
the  topic  that  oppresses  him." 

"Would  he,"  asked  Mr.  Lorry,  "be  sensibly  relieved  if 
he  could  prevail  upon  himself  to  impart  that  secret  brood- 
ing to  any  one,  when  it  is  on  him?" 

"I  think  so.  But  it  is,  as  I  have  told  you,  next  to  im- 
possible. I  even  believe  it  —  in  some  cases  —  to  be  quite 
impossible." 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  gently  laying  his  hand  on  the 
Doctor's  arm  again,  after  a  short  silence  on  both  sides,  "to 
what  would  you  refer  this  attack?  " 

"I  believe,"  returned  Doctor  Manette,  "that  there  had 
been  a  strong  and  extraordinary  revival  of  the  train  of 
thought  and  remembrance  that  was  the  first  cause  of  the 
malady.  Some  intense  associations  of  a  most  distressing 
nature  were  vividly  recalled,  I  think.  It  is  probable  that 
there  had  long  been  a  dread  lurking  in  his  mind,  that  those 
associations  would  be  recalled  —  say,  under  certain  circum- 
stances —  say,  on  a  particular  occasion.  He  tried  to  pre- 
pare himself,  in  vain;  perhaps  the  effort  to  prepare  himself, 
made  him  less  able  to  bear  it." 

"Would  he  remember  what  took  place  in  the  relapse?" 
asked  Mr.  Lorry,  with  natural  hesitation. 

The  Doctor  looked  desolately  round  the  room,  shook  his 
head,  and  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  "Not  at  all." 

"Now,  as  to  the  future,"  hinted  Mr.  Lorry. 

"  As  to  the  future, "  said  the  Doctor,  recovering  firmness, 
"I  should  have  great  hope.  As  it  pleased  Heaven  in  its 
mercy  to  restore  him  so  soon,  I  should  have  great  hope. 
He,  yielding  under  the  pressure  of  a  complicated  some- 
thing, long  dreaded  and  long  vaguely  foreseen  and  con- 
tended against,  and  recovering  after  the  cloud  had  burst 
and  passed,  I  should  hope  that  the  worst  was  over." 


238  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Well,  well!  That's  good  comfort.  I  am  thankful!" 
said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"  I  am  thankful !  "  repeated  the  Doctor,  bending  his  head 
with  reverence. 

"There  are  two  other  points,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "on  which 
I  am  anxious  to  be  instructed.     I  may  go  on?" 

"You  cannot  do  your  friend  a  better  service."  The 
Doctor  gave  him  his  hand. 

"  To  the  first,  then.  He  is  of  a  studious  habit,  and  unu- 
sually energetic;  he  applies  himself  with  great  ardour  to 
the  acquisition  of  professional  knowledge,  to  the  conduct- 
ing of  experiments,  to  many  things.  Now,  does  he  do  too 
much?" 

"  I  think  not.  It  may  be  the  character  of  his  mind,  to  be 
always  in  singular  need  of  occupation.  That  may  be,  in 
part,  natural  to  it;  in  part,  the  result  of  affliction.  The 
less  it  was  occupied  with  healthy  things,  the  more  it 
would  be  in  danger  of  turning  in  the  unhealthy  direction. 
He  may  have  observed  himself,  and  made  the  discovery." 

"You  are  sure  that  he  is  not  under  too  great  a  strain?" 

"I  think  I  am  quite  sure  of  it." 

"  My  dear  Manette,  if  he  were  overworked  now " 

"  My  dear  Lorry,  I  doubt  if  that  could  easily  be.  There 
has  been  a  violent  stress  in  one  direction,  and  it  needs  a 
counterweight. " 

"  Excuse  me,  as  a  persistent  man  of  business.  Assuming 
for  a  moment,  that  he  was  overworked ;  it  would  show  itself 
in  some  renewal  of  this  disorder?" 

"I  do  not  think  so.  I  do  not  think,"  said  Doctor 
Manette  with  the  firmness  of  self -conviction,  "that  any- 
thing but  the  one  train  of  association  would  renew  it.  I 
think  that,  henceforth,  nothing  but  some  extraordinary 
jarring  of  that  chord  could  renew  it.  After  what  has 
happened,   and   after   his   recovery,   I    find   it   difficult  to 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  239 

imagine  any  such  violent  sounding  of  that  string  again. 
I  trust,  and  I  almost  believe,  that  the  circumstances  likely 
to  renew  it  are  exhausted." 

He  spoke  with  the  diffidence  of  a  man  who  knew  how 
slight  a  thing  would  overset  the  delicate  organisation  of 
the  mind,  and  yet  with  the  confidence  of  a  man  who  had 
slowly  won  his  assurance  out  of  personal  endurance  and  dis- 
tress. It  was  not  for  his  friend  to  abate  that  confidence. 
He  professed  himself  more  relieved  and  encouraged  than  he 
really  was,  and  approached  his  second  and  last  point.  He 
felt  it  to  be  the  most  difficult  of  all ;  but,  remembering  his 
old  Sunday  morning  conversation  with  Miss  Pross,  and 
remembering  what  he  had  seen  in  the  last  nine  days,  he 
knew  that  he  must  face  it. 

"The  occupation  resumed  under  the  influence  of  this 
passing  affliction  so  happily  recovered  from,"  said  Mr. 
Lorry,  clearing  his  throat,  "we  will  call  —  Blacksmith's 
work.  Blacksmith's  work.  We  will  say,  to  put  a  case  and 
for  the  sake  of  illustration,  that  he  had  been  used  in  his 
bad  time,  to  work  at  a  little  forge.  We  will  say  that  he 
was  unexpectedly  found  at  his  forge  again.  Is  it  not  a 
pity  that  he  should  keep  it  by  him?  " 

The  Doctor  shaded  his  forehead  with  his  hand,  and  beat 
his  foot  nervously  on  the  ground. 

"He  has  always  kept  it  by  him,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  with 
an  anxious  look  at  his  friend.  "Now,  would  it  not  be 
better  that  he  should  let  it  go  ?  " 

Still,  the  Doctor,  with  shaded  forehead,  beat  his  foot 
nervously  on  the  ground. 

"You  do  not  find  it  easy  to  advise  me?"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 
"  I  quite  understand  it  to  be  a  nice  question.  And  yet  I 
think "     And  there  he  shook  his  head,  and  stopped. 

"  You  see, "  said  Doctor  Manette,  turning  to  him  after  an 
uneasy  pause,  "  it  is  very  hard  to  explain,  consistently,  the 


240  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

innermost  working  of  this  poor  man's  mind.  He  once 
yearned  so  frightfully  for  that  occupation,  and  it  was  so 
welcome  when  it  came;  no  doubt  it  relieved  his  pain  so 
much,  by  substituting  the  perplexity  of  the  fingers  for  the 
perplexity  of  the  brain,  and  by  substituting,  as  he  became 
more  practised,  the  ingenuity  of  the  hands  for  the  inge- 
nuity of  the  mental  torture ;  that  he  has  never  been  able  to 
bear  the  thought  of  putting  it  quite  out  of  his  reach.  Even 
now  when,  I  believe,  he  is  more  hopeful  of  himself  than  he 
has  ever  been,  and  even  speaks  of  himself  with  a  kind  of 
confidence,  the  idea  that  he  might  need  that  old  employ- 
ment, and  not  find  it,  gives  him  a  sudden  sense  of  terror, 
like  that  which  one  may  fancy  strikes  to  the  heart  of  a  lost 
child." 

He  looked  like  his  illustration,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
Mr.  Lorry's  face. 

"  But  may  not  — mind !  I  ask  for  information,  as  a  plodding 
man  of  business  who  only  deals  with  such  material  objects 
as  guineas,  shillings,  and  bank-notes  —  may  not  the  reten- 
tion of  the  thing,  involve  the  retention  of  the  idea?  If  the 
thing  were  gone,  my  dear  Manette,  might  not  the  fear  go 
with  it?  In  short,  is  it  not  a  concession  to  the  misgiving, 
to  keep  the  forge?" 

There  was  another  silence. 

"  You  see,  too, "  said  the  Doctor,  tremulously,  "  it  is  such 
an  old  companion." 

"  I  would  not  keep  it, "  said  Mr.  Lorry,  shaking  his  head ; 
for  he  gained  in  firmness  as  he  saw  the  Doctor  disquieted. 
"  I  would  recommend  him  to  sacrifice  it.  I  only  want  your 
authority.  I  am  sure  it  does  no  good.  Come!  Give  me 
your  authority,  like  a  dear  good  man.  For  his  daughter's 
sake,  my  dear  Manette !  " 

Very  strange  to  see  what  a  struggle  there  was  within 
him! 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  241 

"  In  her  name,  then,  let  it  be  done ;  I  sanction  it.  But, 
I  would  not  take  it  away  while  he  was  present.  Let  it  be 
removed  when  he  is  not  there ;  let  him  miss  his  old  com- 
panion after  an  absence." 

Mr.  Lorry  readily  engaged  for  that,  and  the  conference 
was  ended.  They  passed  the  day  in  the  country,  and  the 
Doctor  was  quite  restored.  On  the  three  following  days, 
he  remained  perfectly  well,  and  on  the  fourteenth  day,  he 
went  away  to  join  Lucie  and  her  husband.  The  precaution 
that  had  been  taken  to  account  for  his  silence,  Mr.  Lorry 
had  previously  explained  to  him,  and  he  had  written  to 
Lucie  in  accordance  with  it,  and  she  had  no  suspicions. 

On  the  night  of  the  day  on  which  he  left  the  house, 
Mr.  Lorry  went  into  his  room  with  a  chopper,  saw,  chisel, 
and  hammer,  attended  by  Miss  Pross  carrying  a  light. 
There,  with  closed  doors,  and  in  a  mysterious  and  guilty 
manner,  Mr.  Lorry  hacked  the  shoemaker's  bench  to  pieces, 
while  Miss  Pross  held  the  candle  as  if  she  were  assisting  at 
a  murder  —  for  which,  indeed,  in  her  grimness,  she  was  no 
unsuitable  figure.  The  burning  of  the  body  (previously 
reduced  to  pieces  convenient  for  the  purpose),  was  com- 
menced without  delay  in  the  kitchen  fire;  and  the  tools, 
shoes,  and  leather,  were  buried  in  the  garden.  So  wicked 
do  destruction  and  secrecy  appear  to  honest  minds,  that  Mr. 
Lorry  and  Miss  Pross,  while  engaged  in  the  commission  of 
their  deed  and  in  die  removal  of  its  traces,  almost  felt,  and 
almost  looked,  like  accomplices  in  a  horrible  crime. 

•r 


242  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A    PLEA. 

When  the  newly-married  pair  came  home,  the  first  per- 
son who  appeared,  to  offer  his  congratulations,  was  Sydney 
Carton.  They  had  not  been  at  home  many  hours,  when  he 
presented  himself.  He  was  not  improved  in  habits,  or  in 
looks,  or  in  manner;  but,  there  was  a  certain  rugged  air 
of  fidelity  about  him,  which  was  new  to  the  observation  of 
Charles  Darnay. 

He  watched  his  opportunity  of  taking  Darnay  aside  into 
a  window,  and  of  speaking  to  him  when  no  one  overheard. 

"  Mr.  Darnay,"  said  Carton,  "  I  wish  we  might  be  friends." 

"We  are  already  friends,  I  hope." 

"You  are  good  enough  to  say  so,  as  a  fashion  of  speech ; 
but,  I  don't  mean  any  fashion  of  speech.  Indeed,  when  I 
say  I  wish  we  might  be  friends,  I  scarcely  mean  that, 
either." 

Charles  Darnay  —  as  was  natural  —  asked  him,  in  all 
good  humour  and  good-fellowship,  what  he  did  mean? 

"Upon  my  life,"  said  Carton,  smiling,  "I  find  that  easier 
to  comprehend  in  my  own  mind,  than  to  convey  to  yours. 
However,  let  me  try.  You  remember  a  certain  famous 
occasion  when  I  was  more  drunk  than  —  than  usual? ': 

"  I  remember  a  certain  famous  occasion  when  you  forced 
me  to  confess  that  you  had  been  drinking." 

"I  remember  it  too.  The  curse  of  those  occasions  is 
heavy  upon  me,  for  I  always  remember  them.  I  hope 
it  may  be  taken  into  account  one  day,  when  all  days  are 
at  an  end  for  me!  — Don't  be  alarmed;  I  am  not  going  to 
preach." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  243 

"I  am  not  at  all  alarmed.  Earnestness  in  you,  is  any- 
thing but  alarming  to  me." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Carton,  with  a  careless  wave  of  his  hand,  as 
if  he  waved  that  away.  "  On  the  drunken  occasion  in  ques- 
tion (one  of  a  large  number,  as  you  know),  I  was  insuffera- 
ble about  liking  you,  and  not  liking  you.  I  wish  you  would 
forget  it." 

"I  forgot  it  long  ago." 

"Fashion  of  speech  again!  But,  Mr.  Darnay,  oblivion 
is  not  so  easy  to  me,  as  you  represent  it  to  be  to  you.  I 
have  by  no  means  forgotten  it,  and  a  light  answer  does  not 
help  me  to  forget  it." 

"If  it  was  a  light  answer,"  returned  Darnay,  "I  beg  your 
forgiveness  for  it.  I  had  no  other  object  than  to  turn  a 
slight  thing,  which,  to  my  surprise,  seems  to  trouble  you 
too  much,  aside.  I  declare  to  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  gentle- 
man, that  I  have  long  dismissed  it  from  my  mind.  Good 
Heaven,  what  was  there  to  dismiss !  Have  I  had  nothing 
more  important  to  remember,  in  the  great  service  you  ren- 
dered me  that  day?" 

"As  to  the  great  service,"  said  Carton,  "I  am  bound  to 
avow  to  you,  when  you  speak  of  it  in  that  way,  that  it  was 
mere  professional  clap-trap.  I  don't  know  that  I  cared 
what  became  of  you,  when  I  rendered  it. — Mind!  I  say 
when  I  rendered  it;  I  am  speaking  of  the  past." 

"You  make  light  of  the  obligation,"  returned  Darnay, 
"but  I  will  not  quarrel  with  your  light  answer." 

"Genuine  truth,  Mr.  Darnay,  trust  me!  I  have  gone 
aside  from  my  purpose;  I  was  speaking  about  our  being 
friends.  Now,  you  know  me;  you  know  I  am  incapable  of 
all  the  higher  and  better  flights  of  men.  If  you  doubt  it, 
ask  Stryver,  and  he'll  tell  you  so." 

"I  prefer  to  form  my  own  opinion,  without  the  aid  of 
his." 


244  A  TALE   OF   TWO  CITIES. 

"Well!  At  any  rate  you  know  me  as  a  dissolute  dog, 
who  has  never  done  any  good,  and  never  will." 

"I  don't  know  that  you  'never  will.'  " 

"But  I  do,  and  you  must  take  my  word  for  it.  Well! 
If  you  could  endure  to  have  such  a  worthless  fellow,  and  a 
fellow  of  such  indifferent  reputation,  coming  and  going  at 
odd  times,  I  should  ask  that  I  might  be  permitted  to  come 
and  go  as  a  privileged  person  here;  that  I  might  be  re- 
garded as  an  useless  (and  I  would  add,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  resemblance  I  detected  between  you  and  me,  an  unorna- 
mental)  piece  of  furniture,  tolerated  for  its  old  service,  and 
taken  no  notice  of.  I  doubt  if  I  should  abuse  the  permis- 
sion. It  is  a  hundred  to  one  if  I  should  avail  myself  of  it 
four  times  in  a  year.  It  would  satisfy  me,  I  dare  say,  to 
know  that  I  had  it." 

"Will  you  try?" 

"That  is  another  way  of  saying  that  I  am  placed  on  the 
footing  I  have  indicated.  I  thank  you,  Darnay.  I  may 
use  that  freedom  with  your  name?" 

"I  think  so,  Carton,  by  this  time." 

They  shook  hands  upon  it,  and  Sydney  turned  away. 
Within  a  minute  afterwards,  he  was  to  all  outward  appear- 
ance, as  unsubstantial  as  ever. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  in  the  course  of  an  evening 
passed  with  Miss  Pross,  the  Doctor,  and  Mr.  Lorry,  Charles 
Darnay  made  some  mention  of  this  conversation  in  general 
terms,  and  spoke  of  Sydney  Carton  as  a  problem  of  care- 
lessness and  recklessness.  He  spoke  of  him,  in  short,  not 
bitterly  or  meaning  to  bear  hard  upon  him,  but  as  anybody 
might  who  saw  him  as  he  showed  himself. 

He  had  no  idea  that  this  could  dwell  in  the  thoughts  of 
his  fair  young  wife;  but,  when  he  afterwards  joined  her  in 
their  own  rooms,  he  found  her  waiting  for  him  with  the 
old  pretty  lifting  of  the  forehead  strongly  marked. 


A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  245 

"  We  are  thoughtful  to-night !  "  said  Darnay,  drawing  his 
arm  about  her. 

"Yes,  dearest  Charles,"  with  her  hands  on  his  breast,  and 
the  inquiring  and  attentive  expression  fixed  upon  him; 
"we  are  rather  thoughtful  to-night,  for  we  have  something 
on  our  mind  to-night." 

"What  is  it,  my  Lucie?" 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  press  one  question  on  me,  if  I 
beg  you  not  to  ask  it?  " 

"Will  I  promise?  What  will  I  not  promise  to  my 
Love?" 

What,  indeed,  with  his  hand  putting  aside  the  golden 
hair  from  the  cheek,  and  his  other  hand  against  the  heart 
that  beat  for  him! 

"  I  think,  Charles,  poor  Mr.  Carton  deserves  more  con- 
sideration and  respect  than  you  expressed  for  him  to-night." 

"Indeed,  my  own?     Why  so?" 

"That  is  what  you  are  not  to  ask  me?  But  I  think  —  I 
know  —  he  does." 

"If  you  know  it,  it  is  enough.  What  would  you  have 
me  do,  my  Life?" 

"  I  would  ask  you,  dearest,  to  be  very  generous  with  him 
always,  and  very  lenient  on  his  faults  when  he  is  not  by. 
I  would  ask  you  to  believe  that  he  has  a  heart  he  very, 
very,  seldom  reveals,  and  that  there  are  deep  wounds  in  it. 
My  dear,  I  have  seen  it  bleeding." 

"It  is  a  painful  reflection  to  me,"  said  Charles  Darnay, 
quite  astounded,  "  that  I  should  have  done  him  any  wrong. 
I  never  thought  this  of  him." 

"My  husband,  it  is  so.  I  fear  he  is  not  to  be  reclaimed; 
there  is  scarcely  a  hope  that  anything  in  his  character 
or  fortunes  is  reparable  now.  But,  I  am  sure  that  he  is 
capable  of  good  things,  gentle  things,  even  magnanimous 
things." 


246  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

She  looked  so  beautiful  in  the  purity  of  her  faith  in  this 
lost  man,  that  her  husband  could  have  looked  at  her  as  she 
was,  for  hours. 

"  And,  0  my  dearest  Love !  "  she  urged,  clinging  nearer 
to  him,  laying  her  head  upon  his  breast,  and  raising  her 
eyes  to  his,  "remember  how  strong  we  are  in  our  happi- 
ness, and  how  weak  he  is  in  his  misery !  " 

The  supplication  touched  him  home.  "I  will  always 
remember  it,  dear  Heart!  I  will  remember  it  as  long  as 
I  live." 

He  bent  over  the  golden  head,  and  put  the  rosy  lips  to 
his,  and  folded  her  in  his  arms.  If  one  forlorn  wanderer 
then  pacing  the  dark  streets,  could  have  heard  her  inno- 
cent disclosure,  and  could  have  seen  the  drops  of  pity 
kissed  away  by  her  husband  from  the  soft  blue  eyes  so 
loving  of  that  husband,  he  might  have  cried  to  the  night  — 
and  the  words  would  not  have  parted  from  his  lips  for  the 
first  time  — , 

"  God  bless  her  for  her  sweet  compassion! " 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

ECHOING    FOOTSTEPS. 


A  wonderful  corner  for  echoes,  it  has  been  remarked, 
that  corner  where  the  Doctor  lived.  Ever  busily  winding 
the  golden  thread  which  bound  her  husband,  and  her  father, 
and  herself,  and  her  old  directress  and  companion,  in  a  life 
of  quiet  bliss,  Lucie  sat  in  the  still  house  in  the  tranquilly 
resounding  corner,  listening  to  the  echoing  footsteps  of 
years. 

At  first,  there  were  times,  though  she  was  a  perfectly 
happy  young  wife,  when  her  work  would  slowly  fall  from 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  247 

her  hands,  and  her  eyes  would  be  dimmed.  For  there  was 
something  coming  in  the  echoes,  something  light,  afar  off, 
and  scarcely  audible  yet,  that  stirred  her  heart  too  much. 
Fluttering  hopes  and  doubts  —  hopes,  of  a  love  as  yet 
unknown  to  her;  doubts,  of  her  remaining  upon  earth,  to 
enjoy  that  new  delight  —  divided  her  breast.  Among  the 
echoes  then,  there  would  arise  the  sound  of  footsteps  at 
her  own  early  grave;  and  thoughts  of  the  husband  who 
would  be  left  so  desolate,  and  who  would  mourn  for  her  so 
much,  swelled  to  her  eyes  and  broke  like  waves. 

That  time  passed,  and  her  little  Lucie  lay  on  her  bosom. 
Then,  among  the  advancing  echoes,  there  was  the  tread  of 
her  tiny  feet  and  the  sound  of  her  prattling  words.  Let 
greater  echoes  resound  as  they  would,  the  young  mother  at 
the  cradle  side  could  always  hear  those  coming.  They 
came,  and  the  shady  house  was  sunny  with  a  child's  laugh, 
and  the  Divine  friend  of  children,  to  whom  in  her  trouble 
she  had  confided  hers,  seemed  to  take  her  child  in  his  arms, 
as  He  took  the  child  of  old,  and  made  it  a  sacred  joy  to 
her. 

Ever  busily  winding  the  golden  thread  that  bound  them 
all  together,  weaving  the  service  of  her  happy  influence 
through  the  tissue  of  all  their  lives,  and  making  it  predomi- 
nate nowhere,  Lucie  heard  in  the  echoes  of  years  none  but 
friendly  and  soothing  sounds.  Her  husband's  step  was 
strong  and  prosperous  among  them;  her  father's,  firm  and 
equal.  Lo,  Miss  Pross,  in  harness  of  string,  awakening 
the  echoes,  as  an  unruly  charger,  whip-corrected,  snorting 
and  pawing  the  earth  under  the  plane-tree  in  the  garden ! 

Even  when  there  were  sounds  of  sorrow  among  the  rest, 
they  were  not  harsh  nor  cruel.  Even  when  golden  hair, 
like  her  own,  lay  in  a  halo,  on  a  pillow  round  the  worn  face 
of  a  little  boy,  and  he  said,  with  a  radiant  smile,  "Dear 
papa  and  mamma,  I  am  very  sorry  to  leave  you  both,  and 


248  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

to  leave  my  pretty  sister;  but  I  am  called,  and  I  must  go!  n 
those  were  not  tears  all  of  agony  that  wetted  his  young 
mother's  cheek,  as  the  spirit  departed  from  her  embrace 
that  had  been  entrusted  to  it.  Suffer  them  and  forbid  them 
not.     They  see  my  Father's  face.     0  Father,  blessed  words ! 

Thus,  the  rustling  of  an  Angel's  wings  got  blended  with 
the  other  echoes,  and  they  were  not  wholly  of  earth,  but 
had  in  them  that  breath  of  Heaven.  Sighs  of  the  winds 
that  blew  over  a  little  garden-tomb  were  mingled  with  them 
also,  and  both  were  audible  to  Lucie,  in  a  hushed  murmur 
—  like  the  breathing  of  a  summer  sea  asleep  upon  a  sandy 
shore  —  as  the  little  Lucie,  comically  studious  at  the  task 
of  the  morning,  or  dressing  a  doll  at  her  mother's  footstool, 
chattered  in  the  tongues  of  the  Two  Cities  that  were  blended 
in  her  life. 

The  echoes  rarely  answered  to  the  actual  tread  of  Sydney 
Carton.  Some  half-dozen  times  a  year,  at  most,  he  claimed 
his  privilege  of  coming  in  uninvited,  and  would  sit  among 
them  through  the  evening  as  he  had  once  done  often.  He 
never  came  there,  heated  with  wine.  And  one  other  thing 
regarding  him  was  whispered  in  the  echoes,  which  has  been 
whispered  by  all  true  echoes  for  ages  and  ages. 

No  man  ever  really  loved  a  woman,  lost  her,  and  knew 
her  with  a  blameless  though  an  unchanged  mind,  when 
she  was  a  wife  and  a  mother,  but  her  children  had  a  strange 
sympathy  with  him  —  an  instinctive  delicacy  of  pity  for 
him.  What  fine  hidden  sensibilities  are  touched  in  such  a 
case,  no  echoes  tell ;  but  it  is  so,  and  it  was  so  here.  Car- 
ton was  the  first  stranger  to  whom  little  Lucie  held  out  her 
chubby  arms  and  he  kept  his  place  with  her  as  she  grew. 
The  little  boy  had  spoken  of  him,  almost  at  the  last. 
"  Poor  Carton !     Kiss  him  for  me !  " 

Mr.  Stryver  shouldered  his  way  through  the  law,  like 
some  great  engine  forcing  itself  through  turbid  water,  and 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  249 

dragged  his  useful  friend  in  his  wake,  like  a  boat  towed 
astern.  As  the  boat  so  favoured  is  usually  in  a  rough 
plight  and  mostly  under  water,  so,  Sydney  had  a  swamped 
life  of  it.  But,  easy  and  strong  custom,  unhappily  so 
much  easier  and  stronger  in  him  than  any  stimulating  sense 
of  desert  or  disgrace,  made  it  the  life  he  was  to  lead;  and 
he  no  more  thought  of  emerging  from  his  state  of  lion's 
jackal,  than  any  real  jackal  may  be  supposed  to  think  of 
rising  to  be  a  lion.  Stryver  was  rich ;  had  married  a  florid 
widow  with  property  and  three  boys,  who  had  nothing  par- 
ticularly shining  about  them  but  the  straight  hair  of  their 
dumpling  heads. 

These  three  young  gentlemen,  Mr.  Stryver,  exuding 
patronage  of  the  most  offensive  quality  from  every  pore, 
had  walked  before  him,  like  three  sheep,  to  the  quiet 
corner  in  Soho,  and  had  offered  as  pupils  to  Lucie's  hus- 
band: delicately  saying,  "Halloa!  here  are  three  lumps 
of  bread-and-cheese  towards  your  matrimonial  pic-nic, 
Darnay ! "  The  polite  rejection  of  the  three  lumps  of 
bread-and-cheese  had  quite  bloated  Mr.  Stryver  with  in- 
dignation, which  he  afterwards  turned  to  account  in  the 
training  of  the  young  gentlemen,  by  directing  them  to 
beware  of  the  pride  of  Beggars,  like  that  tutor-fellow.  He 
was  also  in  the  habit  of  declaiming  to  Mrs.  Stryver,  over 
his  full-bodied  wine,  on  the  arts  Mrs.  Darnay  had  once  put 
in  practice  to  "catch"  him,  and  on  the  diamond-cut- 
diamond  arts  in  himself,  madam,  which  had  rendered 
him  "not  to  be  caught."  Some  of  his  King's  Bench  famil- 
iars, who  were  occasionally  parties  to  the  full-bodied  wine 
and  the  lie,  excused  him  for  the  latter  by  saying  that  he 
had  told  it  so  often,  that  he  believed  it  himself  —  which  is 
surely  such  an  incorrigible  aggravation  of  an  originally  bad 
offence,  as  to  justify  any  such  offender's  being  carried  off  to 
some  suitably  retired  spot,  and  there  hanged  out  of  the  way. 


250  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

These  were  among  the  echoes  to  which  Lucie,  sometimes 
pensive,  sometimes  amused  and  laughing,  listened  in  the 
echoing  corner,  until  her  little  daughter  was  six  years  old. 
How  near  to  her  heart  the  echoes  of  her  child's  tread  came, 
and  those  of  her  own  dear  father's,  always  active  and  self- 
possessed,  and  those  of  her  dear  husband's,  need  not  be 
told.  Nor,  how  the  lightest  echo  of  their  united  home, 
directed  by  herself  with  such  a  wise  and  elegant  thrift  that 
it  was  more  abundant  than  any  waste,  was  music  to  her. 
Nor,  how  there  were  echoes  all  about  her,  sweet  in  her 
ears,  of  the  many  times  her  father  had  told  her  that  he 
found  her  more  devoted  to  him  married  (if  that  could  be) 
than  single,  and  of  the  many  times  her  husband  had  said 
to  her  that  no  cares  and  duties  seemed  to  divide  her  love 
for  him  or  her  help  to  him,  and  asked  her  "What  is  the 
magic  secret,  my  darling,  of  your  being  everything  to  all  of 
us,  as  if  there  were  only  one  of  us,  yet  never  seeming  to 
be  hurried,  or  to  have  too  much  to  do?" 

But,  there  were  other  echoes,  from  a  distance,  that 
rumbled  menacingly  in  the  corner  all  through  this  space  of 
time.  And  it  was  now,  about  little  Lucie's  sixth  birthday, 
that  they  began  to  have  an  awful  sound,  as  of  a  great  storm 
in  France  with  a  dreadful  sea  rising. 

On  a  night  in  mid- July,  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  eighty-nine,  Mr.  Lorry  came  in  late,  from  Tellson's, 
and  sat  himself  down  by  Lucie  and  her  husband  in  the 
dark  window.  It  was  a  hot  wild  night,  and  they  were  all 
three  reminded  of  the  old  Sunday  night  when  they  had 
looked  at  the  lightning  from  the  same  place. 

"I  began  to  think,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  pushing  his  brown 
wig  back,  "that  I  should  have  to  pass  the  night  at  Tell- 
son's. We  have  been  so  full  of  business  all  day,  that  we 
have  not  known  what  to  do  first,  or  which  way  to  turn. 
There  is  such  an  uneasiness  in  Paris,  that  we  have  actually 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  251 

a  run  of  confidence  upon  us!  Our  customers  over  there, 
seem  not  to  be  able  to  confide  their  property  to  us  fast 
enough.  There  is  positively  a  mania  among  some  of  them 
for  sending  it  to  England." 

"That  has  a  bad  look,"  said  Darnay. 

"A  bad  look,  you  say,  my  dear  Darnay?  Yes,  but  we 
don't  know  what  reason  there  is  in  it.  People  are  so  un- 
reasonable! Some  of  us  at  Tellson's  are  getting  old,  and 
we  really  can't  be  troubled  out  of  the  ordinary  course  with- 
out due  occasion." 

"Still,"  said  Darnay,  "you  know  how  gloomy  and  threat- 
ening the  sky  is." 

"I  know  that,  to  be  sure,"  assented  Mr.  Lorry,  trying  to 
persuade  himself  that  his  sweet  temper  was  soured,  and 
that  he  grumbled,  "but  I  am  determined  to  be  peevish 
after  my  long  day's  botheration.     Where  is  Manette?" 

"  Here  he  is !  "  said  the  Doctor,  entering  the  dark  room 
at  the  moment. 

"I  am  quite  glad  you  are  at  home;  for  these  hurries  and 
forebodings  by  which  I  have  been  surrounded  all  day  long, 
have  made  me  nervous  without  reason.  You  are  not  going 
out,  I  hope?" 

"No;  I  am  going  to  play  backgammon  with  you,  if  you 
like,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"I  don't  think  I  do  like,  if  I  may  speak  my  mind.  I 
am  not  fit  to  be  pitted  against  you  to-night.  Is  the  tea- 
board  still  there,  Lucie?     I  can't  see." 

"Of  course,  it  has  been  kept  for  you." 

"Thank  ye,  my  dear.  The  precious  child  is  safe  in 
bed?  " 

"And  sleeping  soundly." 

"That's  right;  all  safe  and  well!  I  don't  know  why 
anything  should  be  otherwise  than  safe  and  well  here, 
thank  God;  but  I  have  been  so  put  out  all  day,  and  I  am 


252  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

not  as  young  as  I  was!  My  tea,  my  dear?  Thank  ye. 
Now,  come  and  take  your  place  in  the  circle,  and  let  us  sit 
quiet,  and  hear  the  echoes  about  which  you  have  your 
theory." 

"Not  a  theory;  it  was  a  fancy." 

"A  fancy,  then,  my  wise  pet,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  patting 
her  hand.  "  They  are  very  numerous  and  very  loud,  though, 
are  they  not?     Only  hear  them!  " 

Headlong  mad  and  dangerous  footsteps  to  force  their  way 
into  anybody's  life,  footsteps  not  easily  made  clean  again 
if  once  stained  red,  the  footsteps  raging  in  Saint  Antoine 
afar  off,  as  the  little  circle  sat  in  the  dark  London  window. 

Saint  Antoine  had  been,  that  morning,  a  vast  dusky 
mass  of  scarecrows  heaving  to  and  fro,  with  frequent 
gleams  of  light  above  the  billowy  heads,  where  steel  blades 
and  bayonets  shone  in  the  sun.  A  tremendous  roar  arose 
from  the  throat  of  Saint  Antoine,  and  a  forest  of  naked 
arms  struggled  in  the  air  like  shrivelled  branches  of  trees 
in  a  winter  wind :  all  the  fingers  convulsively  clutching  at 
every  weapon  or  semblance  of  a  weapon  that  was  thrown 
up  from  the  depths  below,  no  matter  how  far  off. 

Who  gave  them  out,  whence  they  last  came,  where  they 
began,  through  what  agency  they  crookedly  quivered  and 
jerked,  scores  at  a  time,  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  like 
a  kind  of  lightning,  no  eye  in  the  throng  could  have  told ; 
but,  muskets  were  being  distributed  —  so  were  cartridges, 
powder,  and  ball,  bars  of  iron  and  wood,  knives,  axes, 
pikes,  every  weapon  that  distracted  ingenuity  could  discover 
or  devise.  People  who  could  lay  hold  of  nothing  else,  set 
themselves  with  bleeding  hands  to  force  stones  and  bricks 
out  of  their  places  in  walls.  Every  pulse  and  heart  in 
Saint  Antoine  was  on  high-fever  strain  and  at  high-fever 
heat.     Every   living   creature   there,    held   life   as   of   no 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  253 

account,  and  was  demented  with  a  passionate  readiness  to 
sacrifice  it. 

As  a  whirlpool  of  boiling  waters  has  a  centre  point,  so, 
all  this  raging  circled  round  Defarge'  s  wine-shop,  and  every 
human  drop  in  the  caldron  had  a  tendency  to  be  sucked 
towards  the  vortex  where  Defarge  himself,  already  be- 
grimed with  gunpowder  and  sweat,  issued  orders,  issued 
arms,  thrust  this  man  back,  dragged  this  man  forward, 
disarmed  one  to  arm  another,  laboured  and  strove  in  the 
thickest  of  the  uproar. 

"Keep  near  to  me,  Jacques  Three,"  cried  Defarge;  "and 
do  you,  Jacques  One  and  Two,  separate  and  put  yourselves 
at  the  head  of  as  many  of  these  patriots  as  you  can.  Where 
is  my  wife?" 

"  Eh,  well !  Here  you  see  me !  "  said  madame,  composed 
as  ever,  but  not  knitting  to-day.  Madame' s  resolute  right 
hand  was  occupied  with  an  axe,  in  place  of  the  usual  softer 
implements,  and  in  her  girdle  were  a  pistol  and  a  cruel 
knife. 

"Where  do  you  go,  my  wife?" 

"I  go,"  said  madame,  "with  you,  at  present.  You  shall 
see  me  at  the  head  of  women,  by-and-by." 

"Come,  then!"  cried  Defarge,  in  a  resounding  voice. 
"  Patriots  and  friends,  we  are  ready !     The  Bastille !  " 

With  a  roar  that  sounded  as  if  all  the  breath  in  France 
had  been  shaped  into  the  detested  word,  the  living  sea  rose, 
wave  on  wave,  depth  on  depth,  and  overflowed  the  city  to 
that  point.  Alarm-bells  ringing,  drums  beating,  the  sea 
raging  and  thundering  on  its  new  beach,  the  attack  begun. 

Deep  ditches,  double  drawbridge,  massive  stone  walls, 
eight  great  towers,  cannon,  muskets,  fire  and  smoke. 
Through  the  fire  and  through  the  smoke  —  in  the  fire  and 
in  the  smoke,  for  the  sea  cast  him  up  against  a  cannon, 
and  on  the  instant  he  became  a  cannonier  —  Defarge  of 


254  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

the  wine-shop  worked  like  a  manful  soldier,  Two  fierce 
hours. 

Deep  ditch,  single  drawbridge,  massive  stone  walls, 
eight  great  towers,  cannon,  muskets,  fire  and  smoke.  One 
drawbridge  down!  "Work,  comrades  all,  work!  Work, 
Jacques  One,  Jacques  Two,  Jacques  One  Thousand, 
Jacques  Two  Thousand,  Jacques  Five-and-Twenty  Thou- 
sand; in  the  name  of  all  the  Angels  or  the  Devils  —  which 
you  prefer  —  work!  "  Thus  Defarge  of  the  wine-shop,  still 
at  his  gun,  which  had  long  grown  hot. 

"To  me,  women!  "  cried  madame  his  wife.  "What! 
We  can  kill  as  well  as  the  men  when  the  place  is  taken !  " 
And  to  her,  with  a  shrill  thirsty  cry,  trooping  women  vari- 
ously armed,  but  all  armed  alike  in  hunger  and  revenge. 

Cannon,  muskets,  fire  and  smoke;  but,  still  the  deep 
ditch,  the  single  drawbridge,  the  massive  stone  walls,  and 
the  eight  great  towers.  Slight  displacements  of  the  raging- 
sea,  made  by  the  falling  wounded.  Flashing  weapons, 
blazing  torches,  smoking  waggon-loads  of  wet  straw,  hard 
work  at  neighbouring  barricades  in  all  directions,  shrieks, 
volleys,  execrations,  bravery  without  stint,  boom  smash 
and  rattle,  and  the  furious  sounding  of  the  living  sea;  but, 
still  the  deep  ditch,  and  the  single  drawbridge,  and  the 
massive  stone  walls,  and  the  eight  great  towers,  and  still 
Defarge  of  the  wine-shop  at  his  gun,  grown  doubly  hot  by 
the  service  of  Four  fierce  hours. 

A  white  flag  from  within  the  fortress,  and  a  parley  — 
this  dimly  perceptible  through  the  raging  storm,  nothing 
audible  in  it  —  suddenly  the  sea  rose  immeasurably  wider 
and  higher,  and  swept  Defarge  of  the  wine-shop  over  the 
lowered  drawbridge,  past  the  massive  stone  outer  walls, 
in  among  the  eight  great  towers  surrendered ! 

So  resistless  was  the  force  of  the  ocean  bearing  him  on, 
that  even  to  draw  his  breath  or  turn  his  head  was  as  im- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  255 

practicable  as  if  he  had  been  struggling  in  the  surf  of  the 
South  Sea,  until  he  was  landed  in  the  outer  court-yard  of 
the  Bastille.  There,  against  an  angle  of  a  wall,  he  made  a 
struggle  to  look  about  him.  Jacques  Three  was  nearly  at  his 
side ;  Madame  Defarge  still  heading  some  of  her  women,  was 
visible  in  the  inner  distance,  and  her  knife  was  in  her  hand. 
Everywhere  was  tumult,  exultation,  deafening  and  maniacal 
bewilderment,  astounding  noise,  yet  furious  dumb-show. 

"  The  Prisoners !  " 

"TheKecords!" 

"The  secret  cells!" 

"  The  instruments  of  torture !  " 

"  The  Prisoners !  " 

Of  all  these  cries,  and  ten  thousand  incoherencies,  "  The 
Prisoners !  "  was  the  cry  most  taken  up  by  the  sea  that 
rushed  in,  as  if  there  were  an  eternity  of  people,  as  well  as 
of  time  and  space.  When  the  foremost  billows  rolled  past, 
bearing  the  prison  officers  with  them,  and  threatening  them 
all  with  instant  death  if  any  secret  nook  remained  undis- 
closed, Defarge  laid  his  strong  hand  on  the  breast  of  one  of 
these  men  —  a  man  with  a  grey  head  who  had  a  lighted 
torch  in  his  hand  —  separated  him  from  the  rest,  and  got 
him  between  himself  and  the  wall. 

" Show  me  the  Xorth  Tower!  "  said  Defarge.     "Quick!  " 

"I  will  faithfully,"  replied  the  man,  "if  you  wili  come 
with  me.     But  there  is  no  one  there." 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  One  Hundred  and  Five,  North 
Tower?"  asked  Defarge.     "Quick!" 

"The  meaning,  monsieur?" 

"Does  it  mean  a  captive,  or  a  place  of  captivity?  Or  do 
you  mean  that  I  shall  strike  you  dead?" 

"  Kill  him ! "  croaked  Jacques  Three,  who  had  come 
close  up. 

"Monsieur,  it  is  a  cell." 


256  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  Show  it  me !  " 

"Pass  this  way,  then." 

Jacques  Three,  with  his  usual  craving  on  him,  and 
evidently  disappointed  by  the  dialogue  taking  a  turn  that 
did  not  seem  to  promise  bloodshed,  held  by  Defarge's  arm  as 
he  held  by  the  turnkey's.  Their  three  heads  had  been  close 
together  during  this  brief  discourse,  and  it  had  been  as 
much  as  they  could  do  to  hear  one  another,  even  then :  so 
tremendous  was  the  noise  of  the  living  ocean,  in  its  irrup- 
tion into  the  Fortress,  and  its  inundation  of  the  courts  and 
passages  and  staircases.  All  around  outside,  too,  it  beat 
the  walls  with  a  deep,  hoarse  roar,  from  which,  occasion- 
ally, some  partial  shouts  of  tumult  broke  and  leaped  into 
the  air  like  spray. 

Through  gloomy  vaults  where  the  light  of  day  had  never 
shone,  past  hideous  doors  of  dark  dens  and  cages,  down 
cavernous  nights  of  steps,  and  again  up  steep  rugged 
ascents  of  stone  and  brick,  more  like  dry  waterfalls  than 
staircases,  Defarge,  the  turnkey,  and  Jacques  Three,  linked 
hand  and  arm,  went  with  all  the  speed  they  could  make. 
Here  and  there,  especially  at  first,  the  inundation  started 
on  them  and  swept  by;  but  when  they  had  done  descend- 
ing, and  were  winding  and  climbing  up  a  tower,  they  were 
alone.  Hemmed  in  here  by  the  massive  thickness  of 
walls  and  arches,  the  storm  within  the  fortress  and  with- 
out was  only  audible  to  them  in  a  dull,  subdued  way,  as  if 
the  noise  out  of  which  they  had  come  had  almost  destroyed 
their  sense  of  hearing. 

The  turnkey  stopped  at  a  low  door,  put  a  key  in  a  clash- 
ing lock,  swung  the  door  slowly  open,  and  said,  as  they 
all  bent  their  heads  and  passed  in : 

"  One  hundred  and  five,  North  Tower !  " 

There  was  a  small  heavily-grated  unglazed  window  high 
in  the  wall,  with  a  stone  screen  before  it,  so  that  the  sky 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  257 

could  be  only  seen  by  stooping  low  and  looking  up.  There 
was  a  small  chimney,  heavily  barred  across,  a  few  feet 
within.  There  was  a  heap  of  old  feathery  wood-ashes  on 
the  hearth.  There  were  a  stool,  and  table,  and  a  straw 
bed.  There  were  the  four  blackened  walls,  and  a  rusted 
iron  ring  in  one  of  them. 

"Pass  that  torch  slowly  along  these  walls,  that  I  may 
see  them,"  said  Defarge  to  the  turnkey. 

The  man  obeyed,  and  Defarge  followed  the  light  closely 
with  his  eyes. 

"  Stop !  —  Look  here,  Jacques !  " 

"  A.  M. !  "  croaked  Jacques  Three,  as  he  read  greedily. 

"Alexandre  Manette,"  said  Defarge  in  his  ear,  follow- 
ing the  letters  with  his  swart  forefinger,  deeply  engrained 
with  gunpowder.  "And  here  he  wrote  '  a  poor  physician.' 
And  it  was  he,  without  doubt,  who  scratched  a  calendar 
on  this  stone.  What  is  that  in  your  hand?  A  crowbar? 
Give  it  me !  " 

He  had  still  the  linstock  of  his  gun  in  his  own  hand.  He 
made  a  sudden  exchange  of  the  two  instruments,  and  turning 
on  the  wormeaten  stool  and  table,  beat  them  to  pieces  in  a 
few  blows. 

"  Hold  the  light  higher !  "  he  said,  wrathf ully,  to  the  turn- 
key. "  Look  among  those  fragments  with  care,  Jacques.  And 
see !  Here  is  my  knife, "  throwing  it  to  him ;  "  rip  open  that 
bed,  and  search  the  straw.     Hold  the  light  higher,  you !  " 

With  a  menacing  look  at  the  turnkey  he  crawled  upon 
the  hearth,  and,  peering  up  the  chimney,  struck  and  prised 
at  its  sides  with  the  crowbar,  and  worked  at  the  iron  grat- 
ing across  it.  In  a  few  minutes,  some  mortar  and  dust 
came  dropping  down,  which  he  averted  his  face  to  avoid; 
and  in  it,  and  in  the  old  wood-ashes,  and  in  a  crevice  in  the 
chimney   into   which  his   weapon  had  slipped  or  wrought 

itself,  he  groped  with  a  cautious  touch. 

S 


258  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Nothing  in  the  wood,  and  nothing  in  the  straw, 
Jacques?" 

"Nothing." 

"  Let  us  collect  them  together,  in  the  middle  of  the  cell. 
So !     Light  them,  you !  " 

The  turnkey  fired  the  little  pile,  which  blazed  high  and 
hot.  Stooping  again  to  come  out  at  the  low-arched  door; 
they  left  it  burning,  and  retraced  their  way  to  the  court- 
yard:  seeming  to  recover  their  sense  of  hearing  as  they 
came  down,  until  they  were  in  the  raging  flood  once  more. 

They  found  it  surging  and  tossing,  in  quest  of  Defarge 
himself.  Saint  Antoine  was  clamorous  to  have  its  wine- 
shop-keeper foremost  in  the  guard  upon  the  governor  who 
had  defended  the  Bastille  and  shot  the  people.  Otherwise, 
the  governor  would  not  be  marched  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville 
for  judgment.  Otherwise,  the  governor  would  escape,  and 
the  people's  blood  (suddenly  of  some  value,  after  many 
years  of  worthlessness)  be  unavenged. 

In  the  howling  universe  of  passion  and  contention  that 
seemed  to  encompass  this  grim  old  officer  conspicuous  in 
his  grey  coat  and  red  decoration,  there  was  but  one  quite 
steady  figure,  and  that  was  a  woman's.  "See,  there  is  my 
husband ! '  she  cried,  pointing  him  out.  "  See  Defarge !  " 
She  stood  immovable  close  to  the  grim  old  officer,  and 
remained  immovable  close  to  him;  remained  immovable 
close  to  him  through  the  streets,  as  Defarge  and  the  rest 
bore  him  along;  remained  immovable  close  to  him  when 
he  was  got  near  his  destination,  and  began  to  be  struck  at 
from  behind;  remained  immovable  close  to  him  when  the 
long-gathering  rain  of  stabs  and  blows  fell  heavy;  was  so 
close  to  him  when  he  dropped  dead  under  it,  that,  sud- 
denly animated,  she  put  her  foot  upon  his  neck,  and  with 
her  cruel  knife  —  long  ready  —  hewed  off  his  head. 

The  hour  was  come,  when  Saint  Antoine  was  to  execute 


A    TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES.  259 

his  horrible  idea  of  hoisting  up  men  for  lamps  to  show 
what  he  could  be  and  do.  Saint  Antoine's  blood  was  up, 
and  the  blood  of  tyranny  and  domination  by  the  iron  hand 
was  down  —  down  on  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  where 
the  governor's  body  lay  — down  on  the  sole  of  the  shoe  of 
Madame  Defarge  where  she  had  trodden  on  the  body  to 
steady  it  for  mutilation.  "Lower  the  lamp  yonder?"  cried 
Saint  Antoine,  after  glaring  round  for  a  new  means  of 
death ;  "  here  is  one  of  his  soldiers  to  be  left  on  guard !  " 
The  swinging  sentinel  was  posted,  and  the  sea  rushed  on. 

The  sea  of  black  and  threatening  waters,  and  of  destruc- 
tive upheaving  of  wave  against  wave,  whose  depths  were 
yet  unfathomed  and  whose  forces  were  yet  unknown.  The 
remorseless  sea  of  turbulently  swaying  shapes,  voices  of 
vengeance,  and  faces  hardened  in  the  furnaces  of  suffering 
until  the  touch  of  pity  could  make  no  mark  on  them. 

But,  in  the  ocean  of  faces  where  every  fierce  and  furious 
expression  was  in  vivid  life,  there  were  two  groups  of  faces 
—  each  seven  in  number  —  so  fixedly  contrasting  with  the 
rest,  that  never  did  sea  roll  which  bore  more  memorable 
wrecks  with  it.  Seven  faces  of  prisoners,  suddenly  re- 
leased by  the  storm  that  had  burst  their  tomb,  were  carried 
high  over  head:  all  scared,  all  lost,  all  wondering  and 
amazed,  as  if  the  Last  Day  were  come,  and  those  who 
rejoiced  around  them  were  lost  spirits.  Other  seven  faces 
there  were,  carried  higher,  seven  dead  faces,  whose  droop- 
ing eyelids  and  half-seen  eyes  awaited  the  Last  Day.  Im- 
passive faces,  yet  with  a  suspended  —  not  an  abolished  — 
expression  on  them;  faces,  rather,  in  a  fearful  pause,  as 
having  yet  to  raise  the  dropped  lids  of  the  eyes,  and  bear 
witness  with  the  bloodless  lips,  "  Thou  didst  it  ! " 

Seven  prisoners  released,  seven  gory  heads  on  pikes,  the 
keys  of  the  accursed  fortress  of  the  eight  strong  towers,  some 
discovered  letters  and  other  memorials  of  prisoners  of  old 


260  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

time,  long  dead  of  broken  hearts,  —  such,  and  such-like, 
the  loudly  echoing  footsteps  of  Saint  Antoine  escort 
through  the  Paris  streets  in  mid-July,  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  eighty-nine.  Now,  Heaven  defeat  the  fancy 
of  Lucie  Darnay  and  keep  these  feet  far  out  of  her  life! 
For,  they  are  headlong,  mad,  and  dangerous;  and  in  the 
years  so  long  after  the  breaking  of  the  cask  at  Defarge 's 
wine-shop  door,  they  are  not  easily  purified  when  once 
stained  red. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE    SEA    STILL    RISES. 


Haggard  Saint  Antoine  had  had  only  one  exultant  week, 
in  which  to  soften  his  modicum  of  hard  and  bitter  bread  to 
such  extent  as  he  could,  with  the  relish  of  fraternal  embraces 
and  congratulations,  when  Madame  Defarge  sat  at  her 
counter,  as  usual,  presiding  over  the  customers.  Madame 
Defarge  wore  no  rose  in  her  head,  for  the  great  brother- 
hood of  Spies  had  become,  even  in  one  short  week,  extremely 
chary  of  trusting  themselves  to  the  saint's  mercies.  The 
lamps  across  his  streets  had  a  portentously  elastic  swing 
with  them. 

Madame  Defarge,  with  her  arms  folded,  sat  in  the  morn- 
ing light  and  heat,  contemplating  the  wine-shop  and  the 
street.  In  both,  were  several  knots  of  loungers,  squalid 
and  miserable,  but  now  with  a  manifest  sense  of  power 
enthroned  on  their  distress.  The  raggedest  nightcap,  awry 
on  the  wretchedest  head,  had  this  crooked  significance  in 
it :  "I  know  how  hard  it  has  grown  for  me,  the  wearer  of 
this,  to  support  life  in  myself;  but  do  you  know  how  easy 
it  has  grown  for  me,  the  wearer  of  this,  to  destroy  life  in 
you?  "   Every  lean  bare  arm,  that  had  been  without  work  be- 


A   TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  261 

fore,  had  this  work  always  ready  for  it  now,  that  it  could 
strike.  The  fingers  of  the  knitting  women  were  vicious, 
with  the  experience  that  they  could  tear.  There  was  a 
change  in  the  appearance  of  Saint  Antoine ;  the  image  had 
been  hammering  into  this  for  hundreds  of  years,  and  the 
last  finishing  blows  had  told  mightily  on  the  expression. 

Madame  Defarge  sat  observing  it,  with  such  suppressed 
approval  as  was  to  be  desired  in  the  leader  of  the  Saint 
Antoine  women.  One  of  her  sisterhood  knitted  beside  her. 
The  short,  rather  plump  wife  of  a  starved  grocer,  and  the 
mother  of  two  children  withal,  this  lieutenant  had  already 
earned  the  complimentary  name  of  The  Vengeance. 

"Hark!"  said  The  Vengeance.  "Listen,  then!  Who 
comes?" 

As  if  a  train  of  powder  laid  from  the  outermost  bound 
of  the  Saint  Antoine  Quarter  to  the  wine-shop  door,  had 
been  suddenly  fired,  a  fast-spreading  murmur  came  rushing 
along. 

"It  is  Defarge,"  said  madame.     "Silence,  patriots! ' 

Defarge  came  in  breathless,  pulled  off  a  red  cap  he  wore, 
and  looked  around  him !  "  Listen,  everywhere ! '  said 
madame  again.  "Listen  to  him!'  Defarge  stood,  pant- 
ing, against  a  background  of  eager  eyes  and  open  mouths, 
formed  outside  the  door;  all  those  within  the  wine-shop 
had  sprung  to  their  feet. 

"Say  then,  my  husband.     What  is  it?" 

"News  from  the  other  world!  " 

"How,  then?"  cried  madame,  contemptuously.  "The 
other  world?" 

"Does  everybody  here  recall  old  Foulon,  who  told  the 
famished  people  that  they  might  eat  grass,  and  who  died, 
and  went  to  Hell?" 

"Everybody!  "  from  all  throats. 

"The  news  is  of  him.     He  is  among  us! " 


262  A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Among  us?"  from  the  universal  throat  again.  "And 
dead?" 

"  Not  dead !  He  feared  us  so  much  —  and  with  reason  — 
that  he  caused  himself  to  be  represented  as  dead,  and  had 
a  grand  mock  funeral.  But  they  have  found  him  alive, 
hiding  in  the  country,  and  have  brought  him  in.  I  have 
seen  him  but  now,  on  his  way  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  a  pris- 
oner. I  have  said  that  he  had  reason  to  fear  us.  Say  all! 
Had  he  reason?  " 

Wretched  old  sinner  of  more  than  threescore  years  and 
ten,  if  he  had  never  known  it  yet,  he  would  have  known  it 
in  his  heart  of  hearts,  if  he  could  have  heard  the  answering 
cry. 

A  moment  of  profound  silence  followed.  Defarge  and 
his  wife  looked  steadfastly  at  one  another.  The  Vengeance 
stooped,  and  the  jar  of  a  drum  was  heard  as  she  moved  it 
at  her  feet  behind  the  counter. 

"  Patriots !  "  said  Defarge,  in  a  determined  voice,  "  are 
we  ready?" 

Instantly  Madame  Defarge's  knife  was  in  her  girdle; 
the  drum  was  beating  in  the  streets,  as  if  it  and  a  drummer 
had  flown  together  by  magic;  and  The  Vengeance,  uttering 
terrific  shrieks,  and  flinging  her  arms  about  her  head  like 
all  the  forty  Furies  at  once,  was  tearing  from  house  to 
house,  rousing  the  women. 

The  men  were  terrible,  in  the  bloody-minded  anger  with 
which  they  looked  from  windows,  caught  up  what  arms 
they  had,  and  came  pouring  down  into  the  streets;  but,  the 
women  were  a  sight  to  chill  the  boldest.  From  such 
household  occupations  as  their  bare  poverty  yielded, 
from  their  children,  from  their  aged  and  their  sick 
crouching  on  the  bare  ground  famished  and  naked,  they 
ran  out  with  streaming  hair,  urging  one  another,  and 
themselves,  to  madness  with  the  wildest  cries  and  actions. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  263 

Villain  Foulon  taken,  my  sister!  Old  Foulon  taken,  my 
mother!  Miscreant  Foulon  taken,  my  daughter!  Then,  a 
score  of  others  ran  into  the  midst  of  these,  beating  their 
breasts,  tearing  their  hair,  and  screaming,  Foulon  alive! 
Foulon  who  told  the  starving  people  they  might  eat  grass ! 
Foulon  who  told  my  old  father  that  he  might  eat  grass, 
when  I  had  no  bread  to  give  him !  Foulon  who  told  my 
baby  it  might  suck  grass,  when  these  breasts  were  dry  with 
want!  0  mother  of  God,  this  Foulon!  0  Heaven,  our 
suffering!  Hear  me,  my  dead  baby  an^  my  withered 
father:  I  swear  on  my  knees,  on  these  stones,  to  avenge 
you  on  Foulon !  Husbands,  and  brothers,  and  young  men, 
Give  us  the  blood  of  Foulon,  Give  us  the  head  of  Foulon, 
Give  us  the  heart  of  Foulon,  Give  us  the  body  and  soul  of 
Foulon,  Rend  Foulon  to  pieces,  and  dig  him  into  the 
ground,  that  grass  may  grow  from  him !  With  these  cries, 
numbers  of  the  women,  lashed  into  blind  frenzy,  whirled 
about,  striking  and  tearing  at  their  own  friends  until  they 
dropped  in  a  passionate  swoon,  and  were  only  saved  by  the 
men  belonging  to  them  from  being  trampled  under  foot. 

Nevertheless,  not  a  moment  was  lost;  not  a  moment! 
This  Foulon  was  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  might  be  loosed. 
Never,  if  Saint  Antoine  knew  his  own  sufferings,  insults, 
and  wrongs!  Armed  men  and  women  nocked  out  of  the 
Quarter  so  fast,  and  drew  even  these  last  dregs  after  them 
with  such  a  force  of  suction,  that  within  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  there  was  not  a  human  creature  in  Saint  Antoine's 
bosom  but  a  few  old  crones  and  the  wailing  children. 

No.  They  were  all  by  that  time  choking  the  Hall  of 
examination  where  this  old  man,  ugly  and  wicked,  was,  and 
overflowing  into  the  adjacent  open  space  and  streets.  The 
Defarges,  husband  and  wife,  The  Vengeance,  and  Jacques 
Three,  were  in  the  first  press,  and  at  no  great  distance  from 
him  in  the  Hall. 


264  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  See !  "  cried  madame,  pointing  with  her  knife.  "  See 
the  old  villain  bound  with  ropes.  That  was  well  done  to 
tie  a  bunch  of  grass  upon  his  back.  Ha,  ha!  That  was 
well  done.  Let  him  eat  it  now!  "  Madame  put  her  knife 
under  her  arm,  and  clapped  her  hands  as  at  a  play. 

The  people  immediately  behind  Madame  Defarge,  ex- 
plaining the  cause  of  her  satisfaction  to  those  behind  them, 
and  those  again  explaining  to  others,  and  those  to  others, 
the  neighbouring  streets  resounded  with  the  clapping  of 
hands.  Similarly,  during  two  or  three  hours  of  drawl,  and 
the  winnowing  of  many  bushels  of  words,  Madame  De- 
farge's  frequent  expressions  of  impatience  were  taken  up, 
with  marvellous  quickness,  at  a  distance :  the  more  readily, 
because  certain  men  who  had  by  some  wonderful  exercise  of 
agility  climbed  up  the  external  architecture  to  look  in  from 
the  windows,  knew  Madame  Defarge  well,  and  acted  as  a 
telegraph  between  her  and  the  crowd  outside  the  building. 

At  length,  the  sun  rose  so  high  that  it  struck  a  kindly 
ray,  as  of  hope  or  protection,  directly  down  upon  the  old 
prisoner's  head.  The  favour  was  too  much  to  bear;  in  an 
instant  the  barrier  of  dust  and  chaff  that  had  stood  sur- 
prisingly long,  went  to  the  wiDds,  and  Saint  Antoine  had 
got  him! 

It  was  known  directly,  to  the  furthest  confines  of  the 
crowd.  Defarge  had  but  sprung  over  a  railing  and  a  table, 
and  folded  the  miserable  wretch  in  a  deadly  embrace  — 
Madame  Defarge  had  but  followed  and  turned  her  hand  in 
one  of  the  ropes  with  which  he  was  tied  —  The  Vengeance 
and  Jacques  Three  were  not  yet  up  with  them,  and  the  men 
at  the  windows  had  not  yet  swooped  into  the  Hall,  like 
birds  of  prey  from  their  high  perches  —  when  the  cry 
seemed  to  go  up,  all  over  the  city,  "  Bring  him  out !  Bring 
him  to  the  lamp !  " 

Down,  and  up,  and  head  foremost  on  the  steps  of  the 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  265 

building;  now,  on  his  knees;  now,  on  his  feet;  now,  on  his 
back ;  dragged,  and  struck  at,  and  stifled  by  the  bunches  of 
grass  and  straw  that  were  thrust  into  his  face  by  hundreds  of 
hands;  torn,  bruised,  panting,  bleeding,  yet  always  entreat- 
ing and  beseeching  for  mercy;  now,  full  of  vehement  agony 
of  action,  with  a  small  clear  space  about  him  as  the  people 
drew  one  another  back  that  they  might  see ;  now,  a  log  of  dead 
wood  drawn  through  a  forest  of  legs ;  he  was  hauled  to  the 
nearest  street  corner  where  one  of  the  fatal  lamps  swung, 
and  there  Madame  Defarge  let  him  go  —  as  a  cat  might  have 
done  to  a  mouse  —  and  silently  and  composedly  looked  at 
him  while  they  made  ready,  and  while  he  besought  her: 
the  women  passionately  screeching  at  him  all  the  time,  and 
the  men  sternly  calling  out  to  have  him  killed  with  grass 
in  his  mouth.  Once,  he  went  aloft,  and  the  rope  broke, 
and  they  caught  him  shrieking;  twice,  he  went  aloft,  and 
the  rope  broke,  and  they  caught  him  shrieking;  then,  the 
rope  was  merciful  and  held  him,  and  his  head  was  soon 
upon  a  pike,  with  grass  enough  in  the  mouth  for  all  Saint 
Antoine  to  dance  at  the  sight  of. 

Nor  was  this  the  end  of  the  day's  bad  work,  for  Saint 
Antoine  so  shouted  and  danced  his  angry  blood  up,  that  it 
boiled  again,  on  hearing  when  the  day  closed  in  that  the 
son-in-law  of  the  despatched,  another  of  the  people's  ene- 
mies and  insulters,  was  coming  into  Paris  under  a  guard 
five  hundred  strong,  in  cavalry  alone.  Saint  Antoine  wrote 
his  crimes  on  flaring  sheets  of  paper,  seized  him  —  would 
have  torn  him  out  of  the  breast  of  an  army  to  bear  Foulon 
company  —  set  his  head  and  heart  on  pikes,  and  carried  the 
three  spoils  of  the  day,  in  Wolf-procession  through  the 
streets. 

Not  before  dark  night  did  the  men  and  women  come  back 
to  the  children,  wailing  and  breadless.  Then,  the  misera- 
ble bakers'  shops  were  beset  by  long  files  of  them,  patiently 


266  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

waiting  to  buy  bad  bread;  and  while  they  waited  with 
stomachs  faint  and  empty,  they  beguiled  the  time  by  em- 
bracing one  another  on  the  triumphs  of  the  day,  and  achiev- 
ing them  again  in  gossip.  Gradually,  these  strings  of 
ragged  people  shortened  and  frayed  away ;  and  then  poor 
lights  began  to  shine  in  high  windows,  and  slender  fires 
were  made  in  the  streets,  at  which  neighbours  cooked  in 
common,  afterwards  supping  at  their  doors. 

Scanty  and  insufficient  suppers  those,  and  innocent  of 
meat,  as  of  most  other  sauce  to  wretched  bread.  Yet, 
human  fellowship  infused  some  nourishment  into  the  flinty 
viands,  and  struck  some  sparks  of  cheerfulness  out  of  them. 
Fathers  and  mothers  who  had  had  their  full  share  in  the 
worst  of  the  day,  played  gently  with  their  meagre  children ; 
and  lovers,  with  such  a  world  around  them  and  before  them, 
loved  and  hoped. 

It  was  almost  morning,  when  Defarge's  wine-shop  parted 
with  its  last  knot  of  customers,  and  Monsieur  Defarge  said 
to  madame  his  wife,  in  husky  tones,  while  fastening  the 
door: 

"At  last  it  is  come,  my  dear!  " 
"Eh  well!  r  returned  madame.  "Almost." 
Saint  Antoine  slept,  the  Def arges  slept :  even  The  Ven- 
geance slept  with  her  starved  grocer,  and  the  drum  was  at 
rest.  The  drum's  was  the  only  voice  in  Saint  Antoine, 
that  blood  and  hurry  had  not  changed.  The  Vengeance, 
as  custodian  of  the  drum,  could  have  wakened  him  up  and 
had  the  same  speech  out  of  him  as  before  the  Bastille  fell,  or 
old  Foulon  was  seized ;  not  so  with  the  hoarse  tones  of  the 
men  and  women  in  Saint  Antoine 's  bosom. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  267 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

FIRE    RISES. 

There  was  a  change  on  the  village  where  the  fountain 
fell,  and  where  the  mender  of  roads  went  forth  daily  to 
hammer  out  of  the  stones  on  the  highway  such  morsels  of 
bread  as  might  serve  for  patches  to  hold  his  poor  ignorant 
soul  and  his  poor  reduced  body,  together.  The  prison  on 
the  crag  was  not  so  dominant  as  of  yore;  there  were  sol- 
diers to  guard  it,  but  not  many ;  there  were  officers  to  guard 
the  soldiers,  but  not  one  of  them  knew  what  his  men  would 
do  —  beyond  this :  that  it  would  probably  not  be  what  he 
was  ordered. 

Far  and  wide,  lay  a  ruined  country,  yielding  nothing  but 
desolation.  Every  green  leaf,  every  blade  of  grass  and 
blade  of  grain,  was  as  shrivelled  and  poor  as  the  miserable 
people.  Everything  was  bowed  down,  dejected,  oppressed, 
and  broken.  Habitations,  fences,  domesticated  animals, 
men,  women,  children,  and  the  soil  that  bore  them  —  all 
worn  out. 

Monseigneur  (often  a  most  worthy  individual  gentleman) 
was  a  national  blessing,  gave  a  chivalrous  tone  to  things, 
was  a  polite  example  of  luxurious  and  shining  life,  and 
a  great  deal  more  to  equal  purpose;  nevertheless,  Mon- 
seigneur as  a  class  had,  somehow  or  other,  brought  things 
to  this.  Strange  that  Creation,  designed  expressly  for  Mon- 
seigneur, should  be  so  soon  wrung  dry  and  squeezed  out! 
There  must  be  something  short-sighted  in  the  eternal 
arrangements,  surely!  Thus  it  was,  however;  and  the 
last  drop  of  blood  having  been  extracted  from  the  flints, 
and  the  last  screw  of  the  rack  having  been  turned  so  often 


268  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

that  its  purchase  crumbled,  and  it  now  turned  and  turned 
with  nothing  to  bite,  Monseigneur  began  to  run  away  from 
a  phenomenon  so  low  and  unaccountable. 

But,  this  was  not  the  change  on  the  village,  and  on  many 
a  village  like  it.  For  scores  of  years  gone  by,  Monseigneur 
had  squeezed  it  and  wrung  it,  and  had  seldom  graced  it 
with  his  presence  except  for  the  pleasures  of  the  chase  — 
now,  found  in  hunting  the  people  j  now,  found  in  hunting 
the  beasts,  for  whose  preservation  Monseigneur  made  edify- 
ing spaces  of  barbarous  and  barren  wilderness.  No.  The 
change  consisted  in  the  appearance  of  strange  faces  of  low 
caste,  rather  than  in  the  disappearance  of  the  high-caste, 
chiselled,  and  otherwise  beatified  and  beatifying  features  of 
Monseigneur. 

For,  in  these  times,  as  the  mender  of  roads  worked,  soli- 
tary, in  the  dust,  not  often  troubling  himself  to  reflect  that 
dust  he  was  and  to  dust  he  must  return  —  being  for  the 
most  part  too  much  occupied  in  thinking  how  little  he  had 
for  supper  and  how  much  more  he  would  eat  if  he  had  it 
—  in  these  times,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  from  his  lonely 
labour  and  viewed  the  prospect,  he  would  see  some  rough 
figure  approaching  on  foot,  the  like  of  which  was  once  a 
rarity  in  those  parts,  but  was  now  a  frequent  presence.  As 
it  advanced,  the  mender  of  roads  would  discern  without 
surprise  that  it  was  a  shaggy-haired  man,  of  almost  barba- 
rian aspect,  tall,  in  wooden  shoes  that  were  clumsy  even 
to  the  eyes  of  a  mender  of  roads,  grim,  rough,  swart, 
steeped  in  the  mud  and  dust  of  many  highways,  dank  with 
the  marshy  moisture  of  many  low  grounds,  sprinkled  with 
the  thorns  and  leaves  and  moss  of  many  byways  through 
woods. 

Such  a  man  came  upon  him,  like  a  ghost,  at  noon  in  the 
July  weather,  as  he  sat  on  his  heap  of  stones  under  a  bank, 
taking  such  shelter  as  he  could  get  from  a  shower  of  hail. 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  269 

The  man  looked  at  him,  looked  at  the  village  in  the  hol- 
low, at  the  mill,  and  at  the  prison  on  the  crag.  When  he 
had  identified  these  objects  in  what  benighted  mind  he  had, 
he  said,  in  a  dialect  that  was  just  intelligible : 

"How  goes  it,  Jacques?" 

"All  well,  Jacques." 

"Touch  then!" 

They  joined  hands,  and  the  man  sat  down  on  the  heap 
of  stones. 

"No  dinner?" 

"Nothing  but  supper  now,"  said  the  mender  of  roads, 
with  a  hungry  face. 

" It  is  the  fashion,"  growled  the  man.  "  I  meet  no  dinner 
anywhere." 

He  took  out  a  blackened  pipe,  filled  it,  lighted  it  with 
flint  and  steel,  pulled  at  it  until  it  was  in  a  bright  glow: 
then,  suddenly  held  it  from  him  and  dropped  something 
into  it  from  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  that  blazed  and 
went  out  in  a  puff  of  smoke. 

"Touch  then."  It  was  the  turn  of  the  mender  of  roads 
to  say  it  this  time,  after  observing  these  operations.  They 
again  joined  hands. 

"To-night?"  said  the  mender  of  roads. 

"To-night,"  said  the  man,  putting  the  pipe  in  his 
mouth. 

"Where?" 

"Here." 

He  and  the  mender  of  roads  sat  on  the  heap  of  stones 
looking  silently  at  one  another,  with  the  hail  driving  in 
between  them  like  a  pigmy  charge  of  bayonets,  until  the 
sky  began  to  clear  over  the  village. 

"  Show  me !  "  said  the  traveller  then,  moving  to  the  brow 
of  the  hill. 

"  See ! "   returned  the  mender   of   roads,  with   extended 


270  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

finger.  "You  go  down  here,  and  straight  through  the 
street,  and  past  the  fountain " 

"To  the  Devil  with  all  that!"  interrupted  the  other, 
rolling  his  eye  over  the  landscape.  "J  go  through  no 
streets  and  past  no  fountains.     Well?" 

"  Well !  About  two  leagues  beyond  the  summit  of  that 
hill  above  the  village." 

"  Good.     When  do  you  cease  to  work?  " 

"At  sunset." 

"Will  you  wake  me,  before  departing?  I  have  walked 
two  nights  without  resting.  Let  me  finish  my  pipe,  and  I 
shall  sleep  like  a  child.     Will  you  wake  me?" 

"Surely." 

The  wayfarer  smoked  his  pipe  out,  put  it  in  his  breast, 
slipped  off  his  great  wooden  shoes,  and  lay  down  on  his 
back  on  the  heap  of  stones.     He  was  fast  asleep  directly. 

As  the  road-mender  plied  his  dusty  labour,  and  the  hail- 
clouds,  rolling  away,  revealed  bright  bars  and  streaks  of 
sky  which  were  responded  to  by  silver  gleams  upon  the 
landscape,  the  little  man  (who  wore  a  red  cap  now,  in  place 
of  his  blue  one)  seemed  fascinated  by  the  figure  on  the  heap 
of  stones.  His  eyes  were  so  often  turned  towards  it,  that 
he  used  his  tools  mechanically,  and,  one  would  have  said, 
to  very  poor  account.  The  bronze  face,  the  shaggy  black 
hair  and  beard,  the  coarse  woollen  red  cap,  the  rough  medley 
dress  of  homespun  stuff  and  hairy  skins  of  beasts,  the  pow- 
erful frame  attenuated  by  spare  living,  and  the  sullen  and 
desperate  compression  of  the  lips  in  sleep,  inspired  the 
mender  of  roads  with  awe.  The  traveller  had  travelled  far, 
and  his  feet  were  footsore,  and  his  ankles  chafed  and  bleed- 
ing; his  great  shoes,  stuffed  with  leaves  and  grass,  had 
been  heavy  to  drag  over  the  many  long  leagues^  and  his 
clothes  were  chafed  into  holes,  as  he  himself  was  into  sores. 
Stooping  down  beside  him,  the  road-mender  tried  to  get 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  271 

a  peep  at  secret  weapons  in  his  breast  or  where  not;  but, 
in  vain,  for  he  slept  with  his  arms  crossed  upon  him,  and 
set  as  resolutely  as  his  lips.  Fortified  towns  with  their 
stockades,  guard-houses,  gates,  trenches,  and  drawbridges, 
seemed,  to  the  mender  of  roads,  to  be  so  much  air  as  against 
this  figure.  And  when  he  lifted  his  eyes  from  it  to  the 
horizon  and  looked  around,  he  saw  in  his  small  fancy  simi- 
lar figures,  stopped  by  no  obstacle,  tending  to  centres  all 
over  France. 

The  man  slept  on,  indifferent  to  showers  of  hail  and 
intervals  of  brightness,  to  sunshine  on  his  face  and  shadow, 
to  the  pattering  lumps  of  dull  ice  on  his  body  and  the  dia- 
monds into  which  the  sun  changed  them,  until  the  sun  was 
low  in  the  west,  and  the  sky  was  glowing.  Then,  the 
mender  of  roads  having  got  his  tools  together  and  all  things 
ready  to  go  down  into  the  village,  roused  him. 

"Good!"  said  the  sleeper,  rising  on  his  elbow.  "Two 
leagues  beyond  the  summit  of  the  hill?" 

"About." 

"About.     Good!" 

The  mender  of  roads  went  home,  with  the  dust  going  on 
before  him  according  to  the  set  of  the  wind,  and  was  soon 
at  the  fountain,  squeezing  himself  in  among  the  lean  kine 
brought  there  to  drink,  and  appearing  even  to  whisper  to 
them  in  his  whispering  to  all  the  village.  When  the  village 
had  taken  its  poor  supper,  it  did  not  creep  to  bed,  as  it 
usually  did,  but  came  out  of  doors  again,  and  remained 
there.  A  curious  contagion  of  whispering  was  upon  it,  and 
also,  when  it  gathered  together  at  the  fountain  in  the  dark, 
another  curious  contagion  of  looking  expectantly  at  the  sky 
in  one  direction  only.  Monsieur  Gabelle,  chief  functionary 
of  the  place,  became  uneasy;  went  out  on  his  house-top 
alone,  and  looked  in  that  direction  too;  glanced  down  from 
behind  his  chimneys  at  the  darkening  faces  by  the  foun- 


272  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

tain  below,  and  sent  word  to  the  sacristan  who  kept  the 
keys  of  the  church,  that  there  might  be  need  to  ring  the 
tocsin  by-and-by. 

The  night  deepened.  The  trees  environing  the  old 
chateau,  keeping  its  solitary  state  apart,  moved  in  a  rising 
wind,  as  though  they  threatened  the  pile  of  building  mas- 
sive and  dark  in  the  gloom.  Up  the  two  terrace  flights  of 
steps  the  rain  ran  wildly,  and  beat  at  the  great  door,  like 
a  swift  messenger  rousing  those  within;  uneasy  rushes  of 
wind  went  through  the  hall,  among  the  old  spears  and 
knives,  and  passed  lamenting  up  the  stairs,  and  shook  the 
curtains  of  the  bed  where  the  last  Marquis  had  slept.  East, 
West,  North,  and  South,  through  the  woods,  four  heavy- 
treading,  unkempt  figures  crushed  the  high  grass  and 
cracked  the  branches,  striding  on  cautiously  to  come  to- 
gether in  the  court-yard.  Four  lights  broke  out  there,  and 
moved  away  in  different  directions,  and  all  was  black  again. 

But,  not  for  long.  Presently,  the  chateau  began  to  make 
itself  strangely  visible  by  some  light  of  its  own,  as  though 
it  were  growing  luminous.  Then,  a  flickering  streak  played 
behind  the  architecture  of  the  front,  picking  out  trans- 
parent places,  and  showing  where  balustrades,  arches,  and 
windows  were.  Then  it  soared  higher,  and  grew  broader 
and  brighter.  Soon,  from  a  score  of  the  great  windows, 
flames  burst  forth  and  the  stone  faces,  awakened,  stared 
out  of  fire. 

A  faint  murmur  arose  about  the  house  from  the  few  people 
who  were  left  there,  and  there  was  saddling  of  a  horse  and 
riding  away.  There  was  spurring  and  splashing  through 
the  darkness,  and  bridle  was  drawn  in.  the  space  by  the  vil- 
lage fountain,  and  the  horse  in  a  foam  stood  at  Monsieur 
Gabelle's  door.  "Help,  Gabelle!  Help,  every  one!" 
The  tocsin  rang  impatiently,  but  other  help  (if  that  were 
any)  there  was  none.     The  mender  of  roads,  and  two  hun- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  273 

dred  and  fifty  particular  friends,  stood  with  folded  arms  at 
the  fountain,  looking  at  the  pillar  of  fire  in  the  sky.  "  It 
must  be  forty  feet  high,"  said  they,  grimly;  and  never 
moved. 

The  rider  from  the  chateau,  and  the  horse  in  a  foam, 
clattered  away  through  the  village,  and  galloped  up  the 
stony  steep,  to  the  prison  on  the  crag.  At  the  gate,  a  group 
of  officers  were  looking  at  the  fire ;  removed  from  them,  a 
group  of  soldiers.  "  Help,  gentlemen-officers !  The  chateau 
is  on  fire;  valuable  objects  may  be  saved  from  the  flames 
by  timely  aid !  Help,  help ! '  The  officers  looked  towards 
the  soldiers  who  looked  at  the  fire;  gave  no  orders;  and 
answered,  with  shrugs  and  biting  of  lips,  "It  must  burn." 

As  the  rider  rattled  down  the  hill  again  and  through  the 
street,  the  village  wa^  illuminating.  The  mender  of  roads, 
and  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  particular  friends,  inspired 
as  one  man  and  woman  by  the  idea  of  lighting  up,  had 
darted  into  their  houses,  and  were  putting  candles  in  every 
dull  little  pane  of  glass.  The  general  scarcity  of  every- 
thing, occasioned  candles  to  be  borrowed  in  a  rather  per- 
emptory manner  of  Monsieur  Gabelle ;  and  in  a  moment  of 
reluctance  and  hesitation  on  that  functionary's  part,  the 
mender  of  roads,  one  so  submissive  to  authority,  had  re- 
marked that  carriages  were  good  to  make  bonfires  with,  and 
that  post-horses  would  roast. 

The  chateau  was  left  to  itself  to  flame  and  burn.     In  the 

■ 

roaring  and  raging  of  the  conflagration,  a  red-hot  wind, 
driving  straight  from  the  infernal  regions,  seemed  to  be 
blowing  the  edifice  away.  With  the  rising  and  falling  of 
the  blaze,  the  stone  faces  showed  as  if  they  were  in  torment. 
When  great  masses  of  stone  and  timber  fell,  the  face  with 
the  two  dints  in  the  nose  became  obscured :  anon  struggled 
out  of  the  smoke  again,  as  if  it  were  the  face  of  the  cruel 
Marquis,  burning  at  the  stake  and  contending  with  the  fire. 


274  A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

The  chateau  burned;  the  nearest  trees,  laid  hold  of  by 
the  fire,  scorched  and  shrivelled;  trees  at  a  distance,  fired 
by  the  four  fierce  figures,  begirt  the  blazing  edifice  with  a 
new  forest  of  smoke.  Molten  lead  and  iron  boiled  in  the 
marble  basin  of  the  fountain;  the  water  ran  dry;  the  extin- 
guisher tops  of  the  towers  vanished  like  ice  before  the  heat, 
and  trickled  down  into  four  rugged  wells  of  flame.  Great 
rents  and  splits  branched  out  in  the  solid  walls,  like  crys- 
tallisation; stupified  birds  wheeled  about,  and  dropped 
into  the  furnace;  four  fierce  figures  trudged  away,  East, 
West,  North,  and  South,  along  the  night-enshrouded  roads, 
guided  by  the  beacon  they  had  lighted,  towards  their  next 
destination.  The  illuminated  village  had  seized  hold  of 
the  tocsin,  and,  abolishing  the  lawful  ringer,  rang  for  joy. 

Not  only  that ;  but,  the  village,  light-headed  with  famine, 
fire,  and  bell-ringing,  and  bethinking  itself  that  Monsieur 
Gabelle  had  to  do  with  the  collection  of  rent  and  taxes  — 
though  it  was  but  a  small  instalment  of  taxes,  and  no  rent 
at  all,  that  Gabelle  had  got  in  in  those  latter  days  —  became 
impatient  for  an  interview  with  him,  and,  surrounding  his 
house,  summoned  him  to  come  forth  for  personal  confer- 
ence. Whereupon,  Monsieur  Gabelle  did  heavily  bar  his 
door,  and  retire  to  hold  counsel  with  himself.  The  result 
of  that  conference  was,  that  Gabelle  again  withdrew  him- 
self to  his  house-top  behind  his  stack  of  chimneys :  this 
time  resolved,  if  his  door  were  broken  in  (he  was  a  small 
Southern  man  of  retaliative  temperament),  to  pitch  himself 
head  foremost  over  the  parapet,  and  crush  a  man  or  two 
below. 

Probably,  Monsieur  Gabelle  passed  a  long  night  up  there, 
with  the  distant  chateau  for  fire  and  candle,  and  the  beat- 
ing at  his  door,  combined  with  the  joy-ringing,  for  music  j 
not  to  mention  his  having  an  ill-omened  lamp  slung  across 
the  road  before  his  posting-house  gate,  which  the  village 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  275 

showed  a  lively  inclination  to  displace  in  his  favour.  A 
trying  suspense,  to  be  passing  a  whole  summer  night  on  the 
brink  of  the  black  ocean,  ready  to  take  that  plunge  into 
it  upon  which  Monsieur  Gabelle  had  resolved!  But,  the 
friendly  dawn  appearing  at  last,  and  the  rush-candles  of 
the  village  guttering  out,  the  people  happily  dispersed,  and 
Monsieur  Gabelle  came  down,  bringing  his  life  with  him 
for  that  while. 

Within  a  hundred  miles,  and  in  the  light  of  other  fires, 
there  were  other  functionaries  less  fortunate,  that  night 
and  other  nights,  whom  the  rising  sun  found  hanging  across 
once-peaceful  streets,  where  they  had  been  born  and  bred; 
also,  there  were  other  villagers  and  townspeople  less  fortu- 
nate than  the  mender  of  roads  and  his  fellows,  upon  whom 
the  functionaries  and  soldiery  turned  with  success,  and 
whom  they  strung  up  in  their  turn.  But,  the  fierce  figures 
were  steadily  wending  East,  West,  North,  and  South,  be 
that  as  it  would;  and  whosoever  hung,  fire  burned.  The 
altitude  of  the  gallows  that  would  turn  to  water  and  quench 
it,  no  functionary,  by  any  stretch  of  mathematics,  was  able 
to  calculate  successfully. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

DRAWN  TO  THE  LOADSTONE  ROCK. 

In  such  risings  of  fire  and  risings  of  sea  —  the  firm  earth 
shaken  by  the  rushes  of  an  angry  ocean  which  had  now  no 
ebb  but  was  always  on  the  flow,  higher  and  higher,  to  the 
terror  and  wonder  of  the  beholders  on  the  shore  —  three 
years  of  tempest  were  consumed.  Three  more  birthdays  of 
little  Lucie  had  been  woven  by  the  golden  thread  into  the 
peaceful  tissue  of  the  life  of  her  home. 


276  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

Many  a  night  and  many  a  day  had  its  inmates  listened 
to  the  echoes  in  the  corner  with  hearts  that  failed  them 
when  they  heard  the  thronging  feet.  For,  the  footsteps 
had  become  to  their  minds  as  the  footsteps  of  a  people, 
tumultuous  under  a  red  flag  and  with  their  country  declared 
in  danger,  changed  into  wild  beasts  by  terrible  enchant- 
ment long  persisted  in. 

Monseigneur,  as  a  class,  had  dissociated  himself  from 
the  phenomenon  of  his  not  being  appreciated :  of  his  being 
so  little  wanted  in  France,  as  to  incur  considerable  danger 
of  receiving  his  dismissal  from  it  and  this  life  together. 
Like  the  fabled  rustic  who  raised  the  Devil  with  infinite 
pains,  and  was  so  terrified  at  the  sight  of  him  that  he  could 
ask  the  Enemy  no  question,  but  immediately  fled;  so,  Mon- 
seigneur, after  boldly  reading  the  Lord's  Prayer  backwards 
for  a  great  number  of  years,  and  performing  many  other 
potent  spells  for  compelling  the  Evil  One,  no  sooner  beheld 
him  in  his  terrors  than  he  took  to  his  noble  heels. 

The  shining  Bull's  Eye  of  the  Court  was  gone,  or  it  would 
have  been  the  mark  for  a  hurricane  of  national  bullets. 
It  had  never  been  a  good  eye  to  see  with  —  had  long  had 
the  mote  in  it  of  Lucifer's  pride,  Sardanapalus's  luxury, 
and  a  mole's  blindness  —  but  it  had  dropped  out  and  was 
gone.  The  Court,  from  that  exclusive  inner  circle  to  its 
outermost  rotten  ring  of  intrigue,  corruption,  and  dissimu- 
lation, was  all  gone  together.  Eoyalty  was  gone ;  had  been 
besieged  in  its  Palace  and  "suspended,"  when  the  last  tid- 
ings came  over. 

The  August  of  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
ninety-two  was  come,  and  Monseigneur  was  by  this  time 
scattered  far  and  wide. 

As  was  natural,  the  head-quarters  and  great  gathering- 
place  of  Monseigneur,  in  London,  was  Tellson's  Bank. 
Spirits  are  supposed  to  haunt  the  places  where  their  bodies 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  277 

most  resorted,  and  Monseigneur  without  a  guinea  haunted 
the  spot  where  his  guineas  used  to  be.  Moreover,  it  was 
the  spot  to  which  such  French  intelligence  as  was  most  to 
be  relied  upon,  came  quickest.  Again:  Tellson's  was  a 
munificent  house,  and  extended  great  liberality  to  old  cus- 
tomers who  had  fallen  from  their  high  estate.  Again: 
those  nobles  who  had  seen  the  coming  storm  in  time,  and, 
anticipating  plunder  or  confiscation,  had  made  provident 
remittances  to  Tellson's,  were  always  to  be  heard  of  there 
by  their  needy  brethren.  To  which  it  must  be  added  that 
every  new  comer  from  France  reported  himself  and  his 
tidings  at  Tellson's,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course.  For 
such  variety  of  reasons,  Tellson's  was  at  that  time,  as  to 
French  intelligence,  a  kind  of  High  Exchange;  and  this 
was  so  well  known  to  the  public,  and  the  inquiries  made 
there  were  in  consequence  so  numerous,  that  Tellson's 
sometimes  wrote  the  latest  news  out  in  a  line  or  so  and 
posted  it  in  the  Bank  windows,  for  all  who  ran  through 
Temple  Bar  to  read. 

On  a  steaming,  misty  afternoon,  Mr.  Lorry  sat  at  his 
desk,  and  Charles  Darnay  stood  leaning  on  it,  talking  with 
him  in  a  low  voice.  The  penitential  den  once  set  apart  for 
interviews  with  the  House,  was  now  the  news-Exchange, 
and  was  filled  to  overflowing.  It  was  within  half  an  hour 
or  so  of  the  time  of  closing, 

"But,  although  you  are  the  youngest  man  that  ever 
lived,"  said  Charles  Darnay,  rather  hesitating,  "I  must 
still  suggest  to  you " 

"I  understand.     That  I  am  too  old?"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"  Unsettled  weather,  a  long  journey,  uncertain  means  of 
travelling,  a  disorganised  country,  a  city  that  may  not  even 
be  safe  for  you." 

"My  dear  Charles,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  with  cheerful  con- 
fidence, "  you  touch  some  of  the  reasons  for  my  going :  not 


278  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

for  my  staying  away.  It  is  safe  enough  for  me;  nobody 
will  care  to  interfere  with  an  old  fellow  of  hard  upon  four- 
score when  there  are  so  many  people  there  much  better 
worth  interfering  with.  As  to  its  being  a  disorganised  city, 
if  it  were  not  a  disorganised  city  there  would  be  no  occa- 
sion to  send  somebody  from  our  House  here  to  our  House 
there,  who  knows  the  city  and  the  business,  of  old,  and 
is  in  Tellson's  confidence.  As  to  the  uncertain  travelling, 
the  long  journey,  and  the  winter  weather,  if  I  were  not 
prepared  to  submit  myself  to  a  few  inconveniences  for  the 
sake  of  Tellson's,  after  all  these  years,  who  ought  to  be?" 

"I  wish  I  were  going  myself,"  said  Charles  Darnay, 
somewhat  restlessly,  and  like  one  thinking  aloud. 

"  Indeed !  You  are  a  pretty  fellow  to  object  and  advise !  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Lorry.  "You  wish  you  were  going  your- 
self? And  you  a  Frenchman  born?  You  are  a  wise  coun- 
sellor." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Lorry,  it  is  because  I  am  a  Frenchman 
born,  that  the  thought  (which  I  did  not  mean  to  utter  here, 
however)  has  passed  through  my  mind  often.  One  cannot 
help  thinking,  having  had  some  sympathy  for  the  misera- 
ble people,  and  having  abandoned  something  to  them,"  he 
spoke  here  in  his  former  thoughtful  manner,  "that  one 
might  be  listened  to,  and  might  have  the  power  to  persuade 
to  some  restraint.  Only  last  night,  after  you  had  left  us, 
when  I  was  talking  to  Lucie " 

"When  you  were  talking  to  Lucie,"  Mr.  Lorry  repeated. 
"Yes.  I  wonder  you  are  not  ashamed  to  mention  the  name 
of  Lucie!  Wishing  you  were  going  to  France  at  this 
time  of  day !  " 

"However,  I  am  not  going,"  said  Charles  Darnay,  with  a 
smile.     "It  is  more  to  the  purpose  that  you  say  you  are." 

"And  I  am,  in  plain  reality.  The  truth  is,  my  dear 
Charles,"  Mr.  Lorry  glanced  at  the  distant  House,  and  low- 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  279 

ered  his  voice,  "you  can  have  no  conception  of  the  diffi- 
culty with  which  our  business  is  transacted,  and  of  the  peril 
in  which  our  books  and  papers  over  yonder  are  involved. 
The  Lord  above  knows  what  the  compromising  consequences 
would  be  to  numbers  of  people,  if  some  of  our  documents 
were  seized  or  destroyed;  and  they  might  be,  at  any  time, 
you  know,  for  who  can  say  that  Paris  is  not  set  a-fire  to- 
day, or  sacked  to-morrow !  Now,  a  judicious  selection  from 
these  with  the  least  possible  delay,  and  the  burying  of  them, 
or  otherwise  getting  of  them  out  of  harm's  way,  is  within 
the  power  (without  loss  of  precious  time)  of  scarcely  any 
one  but  myself,  if  any  one.  And  shall  I  hang  back,  when 
Tellson's  knows  this  and  says  this  —  Tellson's,  whose 
bread  I  have  eaten  these  sixty  years  —  because  I  am  a  little 
stiff  about  the  joints?  Why,  I  am  a  boy,  sir,  to  half  a 
dozen  old  codgers  here !  " 

"How  I  admire  the  gallantry  of  your  youthful  spirit 
Mr.  Lorry." 

"  Tut !  Nonsense,  sir !  —  And,  my  dear  Charles, "  said 
Mr.  Lorry,  glancing  at  the  House  again,  "you  are  to  re- 
member, that  getting  things  out  of  Paris  at  this  present 
time,  no  matter  what  things,  is  next  to  an  impossibility. 
Papers  and  precious  matters  were  this  very  day  brought 
to  us  here  (I  speak  in  strict  confidence ;  it  is  not  business- 
like to  whisper  it,  even  to  you),  by  the  strangest  bearers 
you  can  imagine,  every  one  of  whom  had  his  head  hang- 
ing on  by  a  single  hair  as  he  passed  the  Barriers.  At 
another  time,  our  parcels  would  come  and  go,  as  easily  as 
in  business-like  old  England;  but  now,  everything  is 
stopped." 

"And  do  you  really  go  to-night?" 

"  I  really  go  to-night,  for  the  case  has  become  too  press- 
ing to  admit  of  delay." 

"  And  do  you  take  no  one  with  you?  " 


280  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  All  sorts  of  people  have  been  proposed  to  me,  but  I  will 
have  nothing  to  say  to  any  of  them.  I  intend  to  take 
Jerry.  Jerry  has  been  my  body-guard  on  Sunday  nights 
for  a  long  time  past,  and  I  am  used  to  him.  Nobody  will 
suspect  Jerry  of  being  anything  but  an  English  bull-dog, 
or  of  having  any  design  in  his  head  but  to  fly  at  anybody 
who  touches  his  master." 

"I  must  say  again  that  I  heartily  admire  your  gallan- 
try and  youthfulness." 

"I  must  say  again,  nonsense,  nonsense!  When  I  have 
executed  this  little  commission,  I  shall,  perhaps,  accept 
Tellson's  proposal  to  retire  and  live  at  my  ease.  Time 
enough,  then,  to  think  about  growing  old." 

This  dialogue  had  taken  place  at  Mr.  Lorry's  usual  desk, 
with  Monseigneur  swarming  within  a  yard  or  two  of  it, 
boastful  of  what  he  would  do  to  avenge  himself  on  the 
rascal-people  before  long.  It  was  too  much  the  way  of 
Monseigneur  under  his  reverses  as  a  refugee,  and  it  was 
much  too  much  the  way  of  native  British  orthodoxy,  to  talk 
of  this  terrible  Revolution  as  if  it  were  the  one  only  har- 
vest ever  known  under  the  skies  that  had  not  been  sown  — 
as  if  nothing  had  ever  been  done,  or  omitted  to  be  done, 
that  had  led  to  it  —  as  if  observers  of  the  wretched  millions 
in  France,  and  of  the  misused  and  perverted  resources  that 
should  have  made  them  prosperous,  had  not  seen  it  inev- 
itably coming,  years  before,  and  had  not  in  plain  words 
recorded  what  they  saw.  Such  vapouring,  combined  with 
the  extravagant  plots  of  Monseigneur  for  the  restoration  oi 
a  state  of  things  that  had  utterly  exhausted  itself,  and  worn 
out  Heaven  and  earth  as  well  as  itself,  was  hard  to  be 
endured  without  some  remonstrance  by  any  sane  man  who 
knew  the  truth.  And  it  was  such  vapouring  all  about  his 
ears,  like  a  troublesome  confusion  of  blood  in  his  own 
head,  added  to  a  latent  uneasiness  in  his  mind,  which  had 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  281 

already  made  Charles  Darnay  restless,  and  which  still  kept 
him  so. 

Among  the  talkers,  was  Stryver,  of  the  King's  Bench 
Bar,  far  on  his  way  to  state  promotion,  and,  therefore, 
loud  on  the  theme :  broaching  to  Monseigneur,  his  devices 
for  blowing  the  people  up  and  exterminating  them  from  the 
face  of  the  earth,  and  doing  without  them :  and  for  accom- 
plishing many  similar  objects  akin  in  their  nature  to  the 
abolition  of  eagles  by  sprinkling  salt  on  the  tails  of  the 
race.  Him,  Darnay  heard  with  a  particular  feeling  of 
objection;  and  Darnay  stood  divided  between  going  away 
that  he  might  hear  no  more,  and  remaining  to  interpose 
his  word,  when  the  thing  that  was  to  be,  went  on  to  shape 
itself  out. 

The  House  approached  Mr.  Lorry,  and  laying  a  soiled 
and  unopened  letter  before  him,  asked  if  he  had  yet  discov- 
ered any  traces  of  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed? 
The  House  laid  the  letter  down  so  close  to  Darnay  that  he 
saw  the  direction  —  the  more  quickly,  because  it  was  his 
own  right  name.  The  address,  turned  into  English,  ran: 
"Very  pressing.  To  Monsieur  heretofore  the  Marquis  St. 
Evremonde,  of  France,  Confided  to  the  cares  of  Messrs. 
Tellson  and  Co.,  Bankers,  London,  England." 

On  the  marriage  morning,  Doctor  Manette  had  made  it 
his  one  urgent  and  express  request  to  Charles  Darnay,  that 
the  secret  of  his  name  should  be  —  unless  he,  the  Doctor, 
dissolved  the  obligation  —  kept  inviolate  between  them. 
Nobody  else  knew  it  to  be  his  name ;  his  own  wife  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  fact;  Mr.  Lorry  could  have  none. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  in  reply  to  the  House;  "I  have 
referred  it,  I  think,  to  everybody  now  here,  and  no  one  can 
tell  me  where  this  gentleman  is  to  be  found." 

The  hands  of  the  clock  verging  upon  the  hour  of  closing 
the  Bank,  there  was  a  general  set  of  the  current  of  talkers 


282  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

past  Mr.  Lorry's  desk.  He  held  the  letter  out  inquiringly; 
and  Monseigneur  looked  at  it,  in  the  person  of  this  plotting 
and  indignant  refugee;  and  Monseigneur  looked  at  it,  in 
the  person  of  that  plotting  and  indignant  refugee;  and 
This,  That,  and  The  Other,  all  had  something  disparaging 
to  say,  in  French  or  in  English,  concerning  the  Marquis 
who  was  not  to  be  found. 

"Nephew,  I  believe  —  but  in  any  case  degenerate  succes- 
sor—  of  the  polished  Marquis  who  was  murdered,"  said 
one.     "Happy  to  say,  I  never  knew  him." 

"  A  craven  who  abandoned  his  post, "  said  another  —  this 
Monseigneur  had  been  got  out  of  Paris,  legs  uppermost  and 
half  suffocated,  in  a  load  of  hay  —  "some  years  ago." 

"Infected  with  the  new  doctrines,"  said  a  third,  eyeing 
the  direction  through  his  glass  in  passing;  "set  himself  in 
opposition  to  the  last  Marquis,  abandoned  the  estates  when 
he  inherited  them,  and  left  them  to  the  ruffian  herd.  They 
will  recompense  him  now,  I  hope,  as  he  deserves." 

"Hey?"  cried  the  blatant  Stryver.  "Did  he  though? 
Is  that  the  sort  of  fellow?  Let  us  look  at  his  infamous 
name.     D — n  the  fellow!  " 

Darnay,  unable  to  restrain  himself  any  longer,  touched 
Mr.  Stryver  on  the  shoulder,  and  said : 

"I  know  the  fellow." 

"Do  you,  by  Jupiter?"  said  Stryver.  "I  am  sorry 
for  it." 

"Why?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Darnay?  D'ye  hear  what  he  did?  Don't 
ask,  why,  in  these  times." 

"But  I  do  ask  why." 

"  Then  I  tell  you  again,  Mr.  Darnay,  I  am  sorry  for  it. 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  putting  any  such  extraordinary 
questions.  Here  is  a  fellow,  who,  infected  by  the  most 
pestilent  and  blasphemous  code  of  devilry  that  ever  was 


A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES.  283 

known,  abandoned  his  property  to  the  vilest  scum  of  the 
earth  that  ever  did  murder  by  wholesale,  and  you  ask  me 
why  I  am  sorry  that  a  man  who  instructs  youth  knows  him? 
Well,  but  I'll  answer  you.  I  am  sorry,  because  I  believe 
there  is  contamination  in  such  a  scoundrel.     That's  why." 

Mindful  of  the  secret,  Darnay  with  great  difficulty 
checked  himself,  and  said:  "You  may  not  understand 
the  gentleman." 

"I  understand  how  to  put  you  in  a  corner,  Mr.  Darnay," 
riaid  Bully  Stryver,  "  and  I'll  do  it.  If  this  fellow  is  a  gen- 
tleman, I  don't  understand  him.  You  may  tell  him  so,  with 
my  compliments.  You  may  also  tell  him,  from  me,  that 
after  abandoning  his  worldly  goods  and  position  to  this 
butcherly  mob,  I  wonder  he  is  not  at  the  head  of  them. 
But,  no,  gentlemen,"  said  Stryver,  looking  all  round,  and 
snapping  his  fingers,  "  I  know  something  of  human  nature, 
and  I  tell  you  that  you'll  never  find  a  fellow  like  this 
fellow,  trusting  himself  to  the  mercies  of  such  precious 
proteges.  No,  gentlemen;  he'll  always  show  'em  a  clean 
pair  of  heels  very  early  in  the  scuffle,  and  sneak  away." 

With  those  words,  and  a  final  snap  of  his  fingers,  Mr. 
Stryver  shouldered  himself  into  Fleet-street,  amidst  the 
general  approbation  of  his  hearers.  Mr.  Lorry  and  Charles 
Darnay  were  left  alone  at  the  desk,  in  the  general  departure 
from  the  Bank. 

"Will  you  take  charge  of  the  letter?"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 
"You  know  where  to  deliver  it?" 

"I  do." 

"Will  you  undertake  to  explain  that  we  suppose  it  to 
have  been  addressed  here,  on  the  chance  of  our  knowing 
where  to  forward  it,  and  that  it  has  been  here  some  time?" 

"I  will  do  so.     Do  you  start  for  Paris  from  here?'1 

"From  here,  at  eight." 

"I  will  come  back,  to  see  you  off." 


284  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

Very  ill  at  ease  with  himself,  and  with  Stryver  and  most 
other  men,  Darnay  made  the  best  of  his  way  into  the  quiet 
of  the  Temple,  opened  the  letter,  and  read  it.  These  were 
its  contents: 

"  Prison  of  the  Abbaye,  Paris.    June  21,  1792. 
"  Monsieur  heretofore  the  Marquis. 

"After  having  long  been  in  danger  of  my  life  at  the 
hands  of  the  village,  I  have  been  seized,  with  great  vio- 
lence and  indignity,  and  brought  a  long  journey  on  foot 
to  Paris.  On  the  road  I  have  suffered  a  great  deal.  Nor 
is  that  all;  my  house  has  been  destroyed  —  razed  to  the 
ground. 

"  The  crime  for  which  I  am  imprisoned,  Monsieur  here- 
tofore the  Marquis,  and  for  which  I  shall  be  summoned 
before  the  tribunal,  and  shall  lose  my  life  (without  your 
so  generous  help),  is,  they  tell  me,  treason  against  the 
majesty  of  the  people,  in  that  I  have  acted  against  them 
for  an  emigrant.  It  is  in  vain  I  represent  that  I  have 
acted  for  them,  and  not  against,  according  to  your  com- 
mands. It  is  in  vain  I  represent  that,  before  the  seques- 
tration of  emigrant  property,  I  had  remitted  the  imposts 
they  had  ceased  to  pay;  that  I  had  collected  no  rent,  that 
I  had  had  recourse  to  no  process.  The  only  response  is, 
that  I  have  acted  for  an  emigrant,  and  where  is  that  emi- 
grant? 

"Ah!  most  gracious  Monsieur  heretofore  the  Marquis, 
where  is  that  emigrant!  I  cry  in  my  sleep  where  is  he! 
I  demand  of  Heaven,  will  he  not  come  to  deliver  me  I  No 
answer.  Ah  Monsieur  heretofore  the  Marquis,  I  send  my 
desolate  cry  across  the  sea,  hoping  it  may  perhaps  reach 
your  ears  through  the  great  bank  of  Tilson  known  at  Paris ! 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  of  justice,  of  generosity,  of  the 
honour  of  your  noble  name,  I  supplicate  you,  Monsieur  here- 


A   TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  285 

tofore  the  Marquis,  to  succour  and  release  me.  My  fault 
is,  that  I  have  been  true  to  you.  Oh  Monsieur  heretofore 
the  Marquis,  I  pray  you  be  you  true  to  me ! 

"From  this  prison  here  of  horror,  whence  I  every  hour 
tend  nearer  and  nearer  to  destruction,  I  send  you,  Mon- 
sieur heretofore  the  Marquis,  the  assurance  of  my  dolor- 
ous and  unhappy  service. 

"Your  afflicted, 

"Gabelle." 

The  latent  uneasiness  in  Darnay's  mind  was  roused  to 
vigorous  life  by  this  letter.  The  peril  of  an  old  servant 
and  a  good  servant,  whose  only  crime  was  fidelity  to  him- 
self and  his  family,  stared  him  so  reproachfully  in  the  face, 
that,  as  he  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  Temple  considering 
what  to  do,  he  almost  hid  his  face  from  the  passers-by. 

He  knew  very  well,  that  in  his  horror  of  the  deed  which 
had  culminated  the  bad  deeds  and  bad  reputation  of  the  old 
family  house,  in  his  resentful  suspicions  of  his  uncle,  and 
in  the  aversion  with  which  his  conscience  regarded  the 
crumbling  fabric  that  he  was  supposed  to  uphold,  he  had 
acted  imperfectly.  He  knew  very  well,  that  in  his  love 
for  Lucie,  his  renunciation  of  his  social  place,  though  by  no 
means  new  to  his  own  mind,  had  been  hurried  and  incom- 
plete. He  knew  that  he  ought  to  have  systematically 
worked  it  out  and  supervised  it,  and  that  he  had  meant 
to  do  it,  and  that  it  had  never  been  done. 

The  happiness  of  his  own  chosen  English  home,  the 
necessity  of  being  always  actively  employed,  the  swift 
changes  and  troubles  of  the  time  which  had  followed  on 
one  another  so  fast,  that  the  events  of  this  week  annihi- 
lated the  immature  plans  of  last  week,  and  the  events  of 
the  week  following  made  all  new  again ;  he  knew  very  well, 
that  to  the  force  of  these  circumstances  he  had  yielded :  — 


286  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

not  without  disquiet,  but  still  without  continuous  and  accu- 
mulating resistance.  That  he  had  watched  the  times  for 
a  time  of  action,  and  that  they  had  shifted  and  struggled 
until  the  time  had  gone  by,  and  the  nobility  were  trooping 
from  France  by  every  highway  and  byway,  and  their  prop- 
erty was  in  course  of  confiscation  and  destruction,  and  their 
very  names  were  blotting  out,  was  as  well  known  to  him- 
self as  it  could  be  to  any  new  authority  in  France  that 
might  impeach  him  for  it. 

But,  he  had  oppressed  no  man,  he  had  imprisoned  no 
man;  he  was  so  far  from  having  harshly  exacted  payment 
of  his  dues,  that  he  had  relinquished  them  of  his  own  will, 
thrown  himself  on  a  world  with  no  favour  in  it,  won  his 
own  private  place  there,  and  earned  his  own  bread.  Mon- 
sieur Gabelle  had  held  the  impoverished  and  involved  estate 
on  written  instructions  to  spare  the  people,  to  give  them 
what  little  there  was  to  give  —  such  fuel  as  the  heavy  cred- 
itors would  let  them  have  in  the  winter,  and  such  produce 
as  could  be  saved  from  the  same  grip  in  the  summer  —  and 
no  doubt  he  had  put  the  fact  in  plea  and  proof,  for  his  own 
safety,  so  that  it  could  not  but  appear  now. 

This  favoured  the  desperate  resolution  Charles  Darnay 
had  begun  to  make,  that  he  would  go  to  Paris. 

Yes.  Like  the  mariner  in  the  old  story,  the  winds  and 
streams  had  driven  him  within  the  influence  of  the  Load- 
stone Rock,  and  it  was  drawing  him  to  itself,  and  he  must 
go.  Everything  that  arose  before  his  mind  drifted  him  on, 
faster  and  faster,  more  and  more  steadily,  to  the  terrible 
attraction.  His  latent  uneasiness  had  been,  that  bad  aims 
were  being  worked  out  in  his  own  unhappy  land  by  bad 
instruments,  and  that  he  who  could  not  fail  to  know  that 
he  was  better  than  they,  was  not  there,  trying  to  do  some- 
thing to  stay  bloodshed,  and  assert  the  claims  of  mercy  and 
humanity.     With   this   uneasiness   half   stifled,    and   half 


A   TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  287 

reproaching  him,  he  had  been  brought  to  the  pointed  com- 
parison of  himself  with  the  brave  old  gentleman  in  whom 
duty  was  so  strong;  upon  that  comparison  (injurious  to 
himself),  had  instantly  followed  the  sneers  of  Monseigneur, 
which  had  stung  him  bitterly,  and  those  of  Stryver,  which 
above  all  were  coarse  and  galling,  for  old  reasons.  Upon 
those,  had  followed  Gabelle's  letter:  the  appeal  of  an  inno- 
cent prisoner,  in  danger  of  death,  to  his  justice,  honour, 
and  good  name. 

His  resolution  was  made.     He  must  go  to  Paris. 

Yes.  The  Loadstone  Rock  was  drawing  him,  and  he 
must  sail  on,  until  he  struck.  He  knew  of  no  rock;  he 
saw  hardly  any  danger.  The  intention  with  which  he  had 
done  what  he  had  done,  even  although  he  had  left  it  incom- 
plete, presented  it  before  him  in  an  aspect  that  would  be 
gratefully  acknowledged  in  France  on  his  presenting  him- 
self to  assert  it.  Then,  that  glorious  vision  of  doing  good, 
which  is  so  often  the  sanguine  mirage  of  so  many  good 
minds,  arose  before  him,  and  he  even  saw  himself  in  the 
illusion  with  some  influence  to  guide  this  raging  Revolution 
that  was  running  so  fearfully  wild. 

As  he  walked  to  and  fro  with  his  resolution  made,  he 
considered  that  neither  Lucie  nor  her  father  must  know  of 
it  until  he  was  gone.  Lucie  should  be  spared  the  pain  of 
separation;  and  her  father,  always  reluctant  to  turn  his 
thoughts  towards  the  dangerous  ground  of  old,  should 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  step,  as  a  step  taken,  and 
not  in  the  balance  of  suspense  and  doubt.  How  much  of 
the  incompleteness  of  his  situation  was  referable  to  her 
father,  through  the  painful  anxiety  to  avoid  reviving  old 
associations  of  France  in  his  mind,  he  did  not  discuss  with 
himself.  But,  that  circumstance  too,  had  had  its  influence 
in  his  course. 

He  walked  to  and  fro,  with  thoughts  very  busy,  until  it 


288  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

was  time  to  return  to  Tellson's,  and  take  leave  of  Mr. 
Lorry.  As  soon  as  he  arrived  in  Paris  lie  would  present 
himself  to  this  old  friend,  but  he  must  say  nothing  of  his 
intention  now. 

A  carriage  with  post-horses  was  ready  at  the  Bank  door, 
and  Jerry  was  booted  and  equipped. 

"I  have  delivered  that  letter,"  said  Charles  Darnay  to 
Mr.  Lorry.  "  I  would  not  consent  to  your  being  charged 
with  any  written  answer,  but  perhaps  you  will  take  a  verbal 
one?" 

"  That  I  will,  and  readily, "  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "  if  it  is  not 
dangerous." 

"Not  at  all.     Though  it  is  to  a  prisoner  in  the  Abbaye." 

"What  is  his  name?"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  with  his  open 
pocket-book  in  his  hand. 

"Gabelle." 

"  Gabelle.  And  what  is  the  message  to  the  unfortunate 
Gabelle  in  prison?" 

"  Simply,  '  that  he  has  received  the  letter,  and  will 
come.'  " 

"Any  time  mentioned?" 

"He  will  start  upon  his  journey  to-morrow  night." 

"Any  person  mentioned?" 

"No." 

He  helped  Mr.  Lorry  to  wrap  himself  in  a  number  of 
coats  and  cloaks,  and  went  out  with  him  from  the  warm 
atmosphere  of  the  old  bank,  into  the  misty  air  of  Fleet- 
street.  "My  love  to  Lucie,  and  to  little  Lucie,"  said  Mr. 
Lorry  at  parting,  "and  take  precious  care  of  them  till  I 
come  back."  Charles  Darnay  shook  his  head  and  doubt- 
fully smiled,  as  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

That  night  —  it  was  the  fourteenth  of  August  —  he  sat 
up  late,  and  wrote  two  fervent  letters;  one  was  to  Lucie, 
explaining  the  strong  obligation  he  was  under   to   go  to 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  289 

Paris,  and  showing  her,  at  length,  the  reasons  that  he  had, 
for  feeling  confident  that  he  could  become  involved  in  no 
personal  danger  there;  the  other  was  to  the  Doctor,  confid- 
ing Lucie  and  their  dear  child  to  his  care,  and  dwelling  on 
the  same  topics  with  the  strongest  assurances.  To  both, 
he  wrote  that  he  would  despatch  letters  in  proof  of  his 
safety,  immediately  after  his  arrival. 

It  was  a  hard  day,  that  day  of  being  among  them,  with 
the  first  reservation  of  their  joint  lives  on  his  mind.  It 
was  a  hard  matter  to  preserve  the  innocent  deceit  of  which 
they  were  profoundly  unsuspicious.  But,  an  affectionate 
glance  at  his  wife,  so  happy  and  busy,  made  him  resolute 
not  to  tell  her  what  impended  (he  had  been  half  moved  to 
do  it,  so  strange  it  was  to  him  to  act  in  anything  without 
her  quiet  aid),  and  the  day  passed  quickly.  Early  in  the 
evening  he  embraced  her,  and  her  scarcely  less  dear  name- 
sake, pretending  that  he  would  return  by-and-by  (an  imag- 
inary engagement  took  him  out,  and  he  had  secreted  a 
valise  of  clothes  ready),  and  so  he  emerged  into  the  heavy 
mist  of  the  heavy  streets,  with  a  heavier  heart. 

The  unseen  force  was  drawing  him  fast  to  itself,  now, 
and  all  the  tides  and  winds  were  setting  straight  and  strong 
towards  it.  He  left  his  two  letters  with  a  trusty  porter,  to 
be  delivered  half  an  hour  before  midnight,  and  no  sooner; 
took  horse  for  Dover;  and  began  his  journey.  "For  the 
love  of  Heaven,  of  justice,  of  generosity,  of  the  honour  of 
your  noble  name!  "  was  the  poor  prisoner's  cry  with  which 
he  strengthened  his  sinking  heart,  as  he  left  all  that  was 
dear  on  earth  behind  him,  and  floated  away  for  the  Load- 
stone Rock. 


BOOK  THE  THIRD.      THE  TRACK  OF  A  STORM. 


-*o*- 


CHAPTER   I. 

IN    SECRET. 

The  traveller  fared  slowly  on  his  way,  who  fared  towards 
Paris  from  England  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  one  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  and  ninety-two.  More  than  enough  of 
bad  roads,  bad  equipages,  and  bad  horses,  he  would  have 
encountered  to  delay  him,  though  the  fallen  and  unfortu- 
nate King  of  France  had  been  upon  his  throne  in  all  his 
glory;  but,  the  changed  times  were  fraught  with  other 
obstacles  than  these.  Every  town  gate  and  village  taxing- 
house  had  its  band  of  citizen-patriots,  with  their  national 
muskets  in  a  most  explosive  state  of  readiness,  who  stopped 
all  comers  and  goers,  cross-questioned  them,  inspected  their 
papers,  looked  for  their  names  in  lists  of  their  own,  turned 
them  back,  or  sent  them  on,  or  stopped  them  and  laid  them 
in  hold,  as  their  capricious  judgment  or  fancy  deemed  best 
for  the  dawning  Republic  One  and  Indivisible,  of  Liberty, 
Equality,  Fraternity,  or  Death. 

A  very  few  French  leagues  of  his  journey  were  accom- 
plished, when  Charles  Darnay  began  to  perceive  that  for 
him  along  these  country  roads  there  was  no  hope  of  return 
until  he  should  have  been  declared  a  good  citizen  at  Paris. 
Whatever  might  befall  now,  he  must  on  to  his  journey's 
end.     Not  a  mean  village  closed  upon  him,  not  a  common 

290 


A   TALE   OF    TWO    CITIES.  291 

barrier  dropped  across  the  road  behind  him,  but  he  knew 
it  to  be  another  iron  door  in  the  series  that  was  barred 
between  him  and  England.  The  universal  watchfulness  so 
encompassed  him,  that  if  he  had  been  taken  in  a  net,  or 
were  being  forwarded  to  his  destination  in  a  cage,  he  could 
not  have  felt  his  freedom  more  completely  gone. 

This  universal  watchfulness  not  only  stopped  him  on  the 
highway  twenty  times  in  a  stage,  but  retarded  his  progress 
twenty  times  in  a  day,  by  riding  after  him  and  taking  him 
back,  riding  before  him  and  stopping  him  by  anticipation, 
riding  with  him  and  keeping  him  in  charge.  He  had  been 
days  upon  his  journey  in  France  alone,  when  he  went  to 
bed  tired  out,  in  a  little  town  on  the  high  road,  still  a  long 
way  from  Paris. 

Nothing  but  the  production  of  the  afflicted  Gabelle's  letter 
from  his  prison  of  the  Abbaye  would  have  got  him  on  so 
far.  His  difficulty  at  the  guard-house  in  this  small  place 
had  been  such,  that  he  felt  his  journey  to  have  come  to  a 
crisis.  And  he  was,  therefore,  as  little  surprised  as  a  man 
could  be,  to  find  himself  awakened  at  the  small  inn  to 
which  he  had  been  remitted  until  morning,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night. 

Awakened  by  a  timid  local  functionary  and  three  armed 
patriots  in  rough  red  caps  and  with  pipes  in  their  mouths, 
who  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"Emigrant,"  said  the  functionary,  "I  am  going  to  send 
you  on  to  Paris,  under  an  escort." 

"Citizen,  I  desire  nothing  more  than  to  get  to  Paris, 
though  I  could  dispense  with  the  escort." 

"  Silence !  "  growled  a  red-cap,  striking  at  the  coverlet 
with  the  butt-end  of  his  musket.     "  Peace,  aristocrat ! ' 

"  It  is  as  the  good  patriot  says, "  observed  the  timid  func- 
tionary. "You  are  an  aristocrat,  and  must  have  an  escort 
—  and  must  pay  for  it." 


292  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"I  have  no  choice,"  said  Charles  Darnay. 

"  Choice !  Listen  to  him ! '  cried  the  same  scowling  red- 
cap. "As  if  it  was  not  a  favour  to  be  protected  from  the 
lamp-iron ! " 

"It  is  always  as  the  good  patriot  says,"  observed  the 
functionary.     "Rise  and  dress  yourself,  emigrant." 

Darnay  complied,  and  was  taken  back  to  the  guard-house 
where  other  patriots  in  rough  red  caps  were  smoking, 
drinking,  and  sleeping,  by  a  watch-fire.  Here  he  paid  a 
heavy  price  for  his  escort,  and  hence  he  started  with  it  on 
the  wet,  wet  roads  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

The  escort  were  two  mounted  patriots  in  red  caps  and 
tricoloured  cockades,  armed  with  national  muskets  and 
sabres,  who  rode  one  on  either  side  of  him.  The  escorted 
governed  his  own  horse,  but  a  loose  line  was  attached  to 
his  bridle,  the  end  of  which  one  of  the  patriots  kept  girded 
round  his  wrist.  In  this  state  they  set  forth,  with  the 
sharp  rain  driving  in  their  faces:  clattering  at  a  heavy 
dragoon  trot  over  the  uneven  town  pavement,  and  out  upon 
the  mire-deep  roads.  In  this  state  they  traversed  without 
change,  except  of  horses  and  pace,  all  the  mire-deep  leagues 
that  lay  between  them  and  the  capital. 

They  travelled  in  the  night,  halting  an  hour  or  two  after 
daybreak,  and  lying  by  until  the  twilight  fell.  The  escort 
were  so  wretchedly  clothed,  that  they  twisted  straw  round 
their  bare  legs,  and  thatched  their  ragged  shoulders  to 
keep  the  wet  off.  Apart  from  the  personal  discomfort  of 
being  so  attended,  and  apart  from  such  considerations  of 
present  danger  as  arose  from  one  of  the  patriots  being 
chronically  drunk,  and  carrying  his  musket  very  recklessly, 
Charles  Darnay  did  not  allow  the  restraint  that  was  laid 
upon  him  to  awaken  any  serious  fears  in  his  breast;  for, 
he  reasoned  with  himself  that  it  could  have  no  reference  to 
the  merits  of  an  individual  case  that  was  not  yet  stated, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  293 

and  of  representations,  confirmable  by  the  prisoner  in  the 
Abbaye,  that  were  not  yet  made. 

But  when  they  came  to  the  town  of  Beauvais  —  which 
they  did  at  eventide,  when  the  streets  were  filled  with 
people  —  he  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  the  aspect 
of  affairs  was  very  alarming.  An  ominous  crowd  gathered 
to  see  him  dismount  at  the  posting-yard,  and  many  voices 
in  it  called  out  loudly,  "  Down  with  the  emigrant ! ' 

He  stopped  in  the  act  of  swinging  himself  out  of  his 
saddle,  and,  resuming  it  as  his  safest  place,  said : 

"Emigrant,  my  friends!  Do  you  not  see  me  here,  in 
France,  of  my  own  will?" 

"You  are  a  cursed  emigrant,"  cried  a  farrier,  making  at 
him  in  a  furious  manner  through  the  press,  hammer  in 
hand ;  "  and  you  are  a  cursed  aristocrat !  " 

The  postmaster  interposed  himself  between  this  man  and 
the  rider's  bridle  (at  which  he  was  evidently  making),  and 
soothingly  said,  "Let  him  be;  let  him  be!  He  will  be 
judged  at  Paris?" 

"  Judged ! "  repeated  the  farrier,  swinging  his  hammer. 
"Ay!  and  condemned  as  a  traitor."  At  this,  the  crowd 
roared  approval. 

Checking  the  postmaster,  who  was  for  turning  his  horse's 
head  to  the  yard  (the  drunken  patriot  sat  composedly  in  his 
saddle  looking  on,  with  the  line  round  his  wrist),  Darnay 
said,  as  soon  as  he  could  make  his  voice  heard : 

"Friends,  you  deceive  yourselves,  or  you  are  deceived. 
I  am  not  a  traitor." 

"  He  lies ! '  cried  the  smith.  "  He  is  a  traitor  since  the 
decree.  His  life  is  forfeit  to  the  people.  His  cursed  life 
is  not  his  own !  " 

At  the  instant  when  Darnay  saw  a  rush  in  the  eyes  of 
the  crowd,  which  another  instant  would  have  brought  upon 
him,  the  postmaster  turned  his  horse   into  the  yard,  the 


294  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

escort  rode  in  close  upon  his  horse's  flanks,  and  the  post- 
master shut  and  barred  the  crazy  double  gates.  The  far- 
rier struck  a  blow  upon  them  with  his  hammer,  and  the 
crowd  groaned;  but,  no  more  was  done. 

"  What  is  this  decree  that  the  smith  spoke  of?  "  Darnay 
asked  the  postmaster,  when  he  had  thanked  them,  and  stood 
beside  him  in  the  yard. 

"Truly,  a  decree  for  selling  the  property  of  emigrants." 

"When  passed?" 

"On  the  fourteenth." 

"The  day  I  left  England!  » 

"  Everybody  says  it  is  but  one  of  several,  and  that  there 
will  be  others  —  if  there  are  not  already  —  banishing  all 
emigrants,  and  condemning  all  to  death  who  return.  That 
is  what  he  meant  when  he  said  your  life  was  not  your 
own." 

"But  there  are  no  such  decrees  yet?" 

"  What  do  I  know !  "  said  the  postmaster,  shrugging  his 
shoulders;  "there  may  be,  or  there  will  be.  It  is  all  the 
same.     What  would  you  have?  " 

They  rested  on  some  straw  in  a  lof  fc  until  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  then  rode  forward  again  when  all  the  town 
was  asleep.  Among  the  many  wild  changes  observable  on 
familiar  things  which  make  this  wild  ride  unreal,  not  the 
least  was  the  seeming  rarity  of  sleep.  After  long  and  lonely 
spurring  over  dreary  roads,  they  would  come  to  a  cluster 
of  poor  cottages,  not  steeped  in  darkness,  but  all  glittering 
with  lights,  and  would  find  the  people,  in  a  ghostly  manner 
in  the  dead  of  the  night,  circling  hand  in  hand  round  a 
shrivelled  tree  of  Liberty,  or  all  drawn  up  together  sing- 
ing a  Liberty  song.  Happily,  however,  there  was  sleep  in 
Beauvais  that  night  to  help  them  out  of  it,  and  they  passed 
on  once  more  into  solitude  and  loneliness :  jingling  through 
the  untimely  cold  and  wet,  among  impoverished  fields  that 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  295 

had  yielded  no  fruits  of  the  earth  that  year,  diversified  by 
the  blackened  remains  of  burnt  houses,  and  by  the  sudden 
emergence  from  ambuscade,  and  sharp  reining  up  across 
their  way,  of  patriot  patrols  on  the  watch  on  all  the  roads. 

Daylight  at  last  found  them  before  the  wall  of  Paris. 
The  barrier  was  closed  and  strongly  guarded  when  they 
rode  up  to  it. 

"Where  are  the  papers  of  this  prisoner?"  demanded  a 
resolute-looking  man  in  authority,  who  was  summoned  out 
by  the  guard. 

Naturally  struck  by  the  disagreeable  word,  Charles  Dar- 
nay  requested  the  speaker  to  take  notice  that  he  was  a  free 
traveller  and  French  citizen,  in  charge  of  an  escort  which 
the  disturbed  state  of  the  country  had  imposed  upon  him, 
and  which  he  had  paid  for. 

"Where,"  repeated  the  same  personage,  without  taking 
any  heed  of  him  whatever,  "are  the  papers  of  this  pris- 
oner?" 

The  drunken  patriot  had  them  in  his  cap,  and  produced 
them.  Casting  his  eyes  over  Gabelle's  letter,  the  same 
personage  in  authority  showed  some  disorder  and  surprise, 
and  looked  at  Darnay  with  a  close  attention. 

He  left  both  escort  and  escorted  without  saying  a  word, 
however,  and  went  into  the  guard-room;  meanwhile,  they 
sat  upon  their  horses  outside  the  gate.  Looking  about  him 
while  in  this  state  of  suspense,  Charles  Darnay  observed 
that  the  gate  was  held  by  a  mixed  guard  of  soldiers  and 
patriots,  the  latter  far  outnumbering  the  former;  and  that 
while  ingress  into  the  city  for  peasants'  carts  bringing  in 
supplies,  and  for  similar  traffic  and  traffickers,  was  easy 
enough,  egress,  even  for  the  homeliest  people,  was  very 
difficult.  A  numerous  medley  of  men  and  women,  not  to 
mention  beasts  and  vehicles  of  various  sorts,  was  waiting 
to  issue  forth;  but,  the  previous  identification  was  so  strict 


296  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

that  they  filtered  through  the  barrier  very  slowly.  Some 
of  these  people  knew  their  turn  for  examination  to  be  so 
far  off,  that  they  lay  down  on  the  ground  to  sleep  or  smoke, 
while  others  talked  together,  or  loitered  about.  The  red 
cap  and  tricolour  cockade  were  universal,  both  among  men 
and  women. 

When  he  had  sat  in  his  saddle  some  half-hour,  taking 
note  of  these  things,  Darnay  found  himself  confronted  by 
the  same  man  in  authority,  who  directed  the  guard  to  open 
the  barrier.  Then  he  delivered  to  the  escort,  drunk  and 
sober,  a  receipt  for  the  escorted,  and  requested  him  to 
dismount.  He  did  so,  and  the  two  patriots,  leading  his 
tired  horse,  turned  and  rode  away  without  entering  the 
city. 

He  accompanied  his  conductor  into  a  guard-room,  smell- 
ing of  common  wine  and  tobacco,  where  certain  soldiers  and 
patriots,  asleep  and  awake,  drunk  and  sober,  and  in  various 
neutral  states  between  sleeping  and  waking,  drunkenness 
and  sobriety,  were  standing  and  lying  about.  The  light  in 
the  guard-house,  half  derived  from  the  waning  oil-lamps 
of  the  night,  and  half  from  the  overcast  day,  was  in  a 
correspondingly  uncertain  condition.  Some  registers  were 
lying  open  on  a  desk,  and  an  officer  of  a  coarse  dark  aspect, 
presided  over  these. 

"Citizen  Defarge,"  said  he  to  Darnay's  conductor,  as  he 
took  a  slip  of  paper  to  write  on.  "  Is  this  the  emigrant 
Evremonde?" 

"This  is  the  man." 

"Your  age,  Evremonde ?" 

"Thirty-seven." 

"  Married,  Evremonde? n 

"Yes." 

"Where  married?" 

"  In  England." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  297 

"Without  doubt.     Where  is  your  wife,  Evremonde?" 

"In  England." 

"Without  doubt.  You  are  consigned,  Evremonde,  to  the 
prison  of  La  Force." 

"  Just  Heaven !  "  exclaimed  Darnay.  "  Under  what  law, 
and  for  what  offence?" 

The  officer  looked  up  from  his  slip  of  paper  for  a  moment. 

"We  have  new  laws,  Evremonde,  and  new  offences,  since 
you  were  here."  He  said  it  with  a  hard  smile,  and  went 
on  writing. 

"  I  entreat  you  to  observe  that  I  have  come  here  volun- 
tarily, in  response  to  that  written  appeal  of  a  fellow- 
countryman  which  lies  before  you.  I  demand  no  more 
than  the  opportunity  to  do  so  without  delay.  Is  not  that 
my  right?" 

"Emigrants  have  no  rights,  Evremonde,"  was  the  stolid 
reply.  The  officer  wrote  until  he  had  finished,  read  over 
to  himself  what  he  had  written,  sanded  it,  and  handed  it 
to  Defarge,  with  the  words  "In  secret." 

Defarge  motioned  with  the  paper  to  the  prisoner  that  he 
must  accompany  him.  The  prisoner  obeyed,  and  a  guard 
of  two  armed  patriots  attended  them. 

"It  is  you,"  said  Defarge,  in  a  low  voice,  as  they  went 
down  the  guard-house  steps  and  turned  into  Paris,  "who 
married  the  daughter  of  Doctor  Manette,  once  a  prisoner 
in  the  Bastille  that  is  no  more." 

"Yes,"  replied  Darnay,  looking  at  him  with  surprise. 

"My  name  is  Defarge,  and  I  keep  a  wine-shop  in  the 
Quarter  Saint  Antoine.     Possibly  you  have  heard  of  me." 

"  My  wife  came  to  your  house  to  reclaim  her  father?  Yes ! n 

The  worn  "  wife  "  seemed  to  serve  as  a  gloomy  reminder 
to  Defarge,  to  say  with  sudden  impatience,  "  In  the  name 
of  that  sharp  female  newly  born  and  called  La  Guillotine, 
why  did  you  come  to  Erance?" 


298  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"You  heard  me  say  why,  a  minute  ago.  Do  you  not 
believe  it  is  the  truth?  " 

"A  bad  truth  for  you/'  said  Defarge,  speaking  with 
knitted  brows,  and  looking  straight  before  him. 

"Indeed,  I  am  lost  here.  All  here  is  so  unprecedented, 
so  changed,  so  sudden  and  unfair,  that  I  am  absolutely  lost. 
Will  you  render  me  a  little  help?" 

"None."  Defarge  spoke,  always  looking  straight  before 
him. 

"Will  you  answer  me  a  single  question?" 

"Perhaps.  According  to  its  nature.  You  can  say  what 
it  is." 

"  In  this  prison  that  I  am  going  to  so  unjustly,  shall  I 
have  some  free  communication  with  the  world  outside?" 

"You  will  see." 

"  I  am  not  to  be  buried  there,  prejudged,  and  without  any 
means  of  presenting  my  case?" 

"You  will  see.  But,  what  then?  Other  people  have 
been  similarly  buried  in  worse  prisons,  before  now." 

"But  never  by  me,  Citizen  Defarge." 

Defarge  glanced  darkly  at  him  for  answer,  and  walked 
on  in  a  steady  and  set  silence.  The  deeper  he  sank  into 
this  silence,  the  fainter  hope  there  was  —  or  so  Darnay 
thought  —  of  his  softening  in  any  slight  degree.  He, 
therefore,  made  haste  to  say : 

"  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  me  (you  know,  Citi- 
zen, even  better  than  I,  of  how  much  importance),  that  I 
should  be  able  to  communicate  to  Mr.  Lorry  of  Tellson's 
Bank,  an  English  gentleman  who  is  now  in  Paris,  the  sim- 
ple fact,  without  comment,  that  I  have  been  thrown  into 
the  prison  of  La  Force.  Will  you  cause  that  to  be  done 
for  me?" 

"I  will  do,"  Defarge  doggedly  rejoined,  "nothing  for 
you.     My  duty  is  to  my  country  and  the  People.     I  am 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  299 

the  sworn  servant  of  both,  against  you.  I  will  do  nothing 
for  you." 

Charles  Darnay  felt  it  hopeless  to  entreat  him  further, 
and  his  pride  was  touched  besides.  As  they  walked  on  in 
silence,  he  could  not  but  see  how  used  the  people  were  to 
the  spectacle  of  prisoners  passing  along  the  streets.  The 
very  children  scarcely  noticed  him.  A  few  passers  turned 
their  heads,  and  a  few  shook  their  fingers  at  him  as  an 
aristocrat;  otherwise,  that  a  man  in  good  clothes  should 
be  going  to  prison,  was  no  more  remarkable  than  that  a 
labourer  in  working  clothes  should  be  going  to  work.  In 
one  narrow,  dark,  and  dirty  street  through  which  they 
passed,  an  excited  orator,  mounted  on  a  stool,  was  address- 
ing an  excited  audience  on  the  crimes  against  the  people, 
of  the  king  and  the  royal  family.  The  few  words  that  he 
caught  from  this  man's  lips,  first  made  it  known  to  Charles 
Darnay  that  the  king  was  in  prison,  and  that  the  foreign 
ambassadors  had  one  and  all  left  Paris.  On  the  road  (ex- 
cept at  Beauvais)  he  had  heard  absolutely  nothing.  The 
escort  and  the  universal  watchfulness  had  completely  iso- 
lated him. 

That  he  had  fallen  among  far  greater  dangers  than  those 
which  had  developed  themselves  when  he  left  England,  he 
of  course  knew  now.  That  perils  had  thickened  about  him 
fast,  and  might  thicken  faster  and  faster  yet,  he  of  course 
knew  now.  He  could  not  but  admit  to  himself  that  he 
might  not  have  made  this  journey,  if  he  could  have  fore- 
seen the  events  of  a  few  days.  And  yet  his  misgivings 
were  not  so  dark  as,  imagined  by  the  light  of  this  later 
time,  they  would  appear.  Troubled  as  the  future  was,  it 
was  the  unknown  future,  and  in  its  obscurity  there  was 
ignorant  hope.  The  horrible  massacre,  days  and  nights 
long,  which,  within  a  few  rounds  of  the  clock,  was  to  set 
a  great  mark  of  blood,  upon  the  blessed  garnering  time  of 


300  A   TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

harvest,  was  as  far  out  of  his  knowledge  as  if  it  had  been 
a  hundred  thousand  years  away.  The  "  sharp  female  newly 
born  and  called  La  Guillotine,"  was  hardly  known  to  him, 
or  to  the  generality  of  people,  by  name.  The  frightful 
deeds  that  were  to  be  soon  done,  were  probably  unimagined 
at  that  time  in  the  brains  of  the  doers.  How  could  they 
have  a  place  in  the  shadowy  conceptions  of  a  gentle  mind? 

Of  unjust  treatment  in  detention  and  hardship,  and  in 
cruel  separation  from  his  wife  and  child,  he  foreshadowed 
the  likelihood,  or  the  certainty;  but,  beyond  this,  he 
dreaded  nothing  distinctly.  With  this  on  his  mind,  which 
was  enough  to  carry  into  a  dreary  prison  court-yard,  he 
arrived  at  the  prison  of  La  Force. 

A  man  with  a  bloated  face  opened  the  strong  wicket,  to 
whom  Defarge  presented  "The  Emigrant  Evremonde." 

"  What  the  Devil !  How  many  more  of  them !  "  exclaimed 
the  man  with  the  bloated  face. 

Defarge  took  his  receipt  without  noticing  the  exclamation, 
and  withdrew,  with  his  two  fellow-patriots. 

"  What  the  Devil,  I  say  again ! "  exclaimed  the  gaoler, 
left  with  his  wife.     "  How  many  more !  " 

The  gaoler's  wife,  being  provided  with  no  answer  to  the 
question,  merely  replied,  "One  must  have  patience,  my 
dear !  "  Three  turnkeys  who  entered  responsive  to  the  bell 
she  rang,  echoed  the  sentiment,  and  one  added,  "For  the 
love  of  Liberty ;  "  which  sounded  in  that  place  like  an  inap- 
propriate conclusion. 

The  prison  of  La  Force  was  a  gloomy  prison,  dark  and 
filthy,  and  with  a  horrible  smell  of  foul  sleep  in  it.  Ex- 
traordinary how  soon  the  noisome  flavour  of  imprisoned 
sleep,  becomes  manifest  in  all  such  places  that  are  ill-cared 
for! 

"In  secret,  too,"  grumbled  the  gaoler,  looking  at  the  writ- 
ten paper.     "  As  if  I  was  not  already  full  to  bursting !  " 


A   TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  301 

He  stuck  the  paper  on  a  file,  in  an  ill-humour,  and 
Charles  Darnay  awaited  his  further  pleasure  for  half  an 
hour:  sometimes,  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  strong  arched 
room:  sometimes,  resting  on  a  stone  seat:  in  either  case 
detained  to  be  imprinted  on  the  memory  of  the  chief  and 
his  subordinates. 

"  Come !  "  said  the  chief,  at  length  taking  up  his  keys, 
"come  with  me,  emigrant." 

Through  the  dismal  prison  twilight,  his  new  charge 
accompanied  him  by  corridor  and  staircase,  many  doors 
clanging  and  locking  behind  them,  until  they  came  into  a 
large,  low,  vaulted  chamber,  crowded  with  prisoners  of 
both  sexes.  The  women  were  seated  at  a  long  table,  read- 
ing and  writing,  knitting,  sewing,  and  embroidering;  the 
men  were  for  the  most  part  standing  behind  their  chairs, 
or  lingering  up  and  down  the  room. 

In  the  instinctive  association  of  prisoners  with  shame- 
ful crime  and  disgrace,  the  new  comer  recoiled  from  this 
company.  But,  the  crowning  unreality  of  his  long  unreal 
ride,  was,  their  all  at  once  rising  to  receive  him,  with 
every  refinement  of  manner  known  to  the  time,  and  with 
all  the  engaging  graces  and  courtesies  of  life. 

So  strangely  clouded  were  these  refinements  by  the  prison 
manners  and  gloom,  so  spectral  did  they  become  in  the 
inappropriate  squalor  and  misery  through  which  they  were 
seen,  that  Charles  Darnay  seemed  to  stand  in  a  company 
of  the  dead.  Ghosts  all!  The  ghost  of  beauty,  the  ghost 
of  stateliness,  the  ghost  of  elegance,  the  ghost  of  pride, 
the  ghost  of  frivolity,  the  ghost  of  wit,  the  ghost  of  youth, 
the  ghost  of  age,  all  waiting  their  dismissal  from  the  deso- 
late shore,  all  turning  on  him  eyes  that  were  changed  by 
the  death  they  had  died  in  coming  there. 

It  struck  him  motionless.  The  gaoler  standing  at  his 
side,  and  the  other  gaolers  moving  about,  who  would  have 


302  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

been  well  enough  as  to  appearance  in  the  ordinary  exercise 
of  their  functions,  looked  so  extravagantly  coarse  con- 
trasted with  sorrowing  mothers  and  blooming  daughters 
who  were  there  —  with  the  apparitions  of  the  coquette,  the 
young  beauty,  and  the  mature  woman  delicately  bred  — 
that  the  inversion  of  all  experience  and  likelihood  which 
the  scene  of  shadows  presented,  was  heightened  to  its 
utmost.  Surely,  ghosts  all.  Surely,  the  long  unreal  ride 
some  progress  of  disease  that  had  brought  him  to  these 
gloomy  shades! 

"In  the  name  of  the  assembled  companions  in  misfor- 
tune," said  a  gentleman  of  courtly  appearance  and  address, 
coming  forward,  "I  have  the  honour  of  giving  you  wel- 
come to  La  Force,  and  of  condoling  with  you  on  the  calam- 
ity that  has  brought  you  among  us.  May  it  soon  terminate 
happily !  It  would  be  an  impertinence  elsewhere,  but  it  is 
not  so  here,  to  ask  your  name  and  condition?" 

Charles  Darnay  roused  himself,  and  gave  the  required 
information,  in  words  as  suitable  as  he  could  find. 

"But  I  hope,"  said  the  gentleman,  following  the  chief 
gaoler  with  his  eyes,  who  moved  across  the  room,  "that 
you  are  not  in  secret?" 

"I  do  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  term,  but  I 
have  heard  them  say  so." 

"Ah,  what  a  pity!  We  so  much  regret  it!  But  take 
courage;  several  members  of  our  society  have  been  in 
secret,  at  first,  and  it  has  lasted  but  a  short  time."  Then 
he  added,  raising  his  voice,  "I  grieve  to  inform  the  society 
—  in  secret." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  commiseration  as  Charles  Darnay 
crossed  the  room  to  a  grated  door  where  the  gaoler  awaited 
him,  and  many  voices  —  among  which,  the  soft  and  com- 
passionate voices  of  women  were  conspicuous  —  gave  him 
good  wishes  and  encouragement.     He  turned  at  the  grated 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  303 

doer,  to  render  the  thanks  of  his  heart;  it  closed  under 
the  gaoler's  hand;  and  the  apparitions  vanished  from  his 
sight  for  ever. 

The  wicket  opened  on  a  stone  staircase,  leading  upward. 
When  they  had  ascended  forty  steps  (the  prisoner  of  half 
an  hour  already  counted  them),  the  gaoler  opened  a  low 
black  door,  and  they  passed  into  a  solitary  cell.  It  struck 
cold  and  damp,  but  was  not  dark. 

"Yours,"  said  the  gaoler. 

"Why  am  I  confined  alone?" 

"  How  do  I  know !  " 

"I  can  buy  pen,  ink,  and  paper?" 

"  Such  are  not  my  orders.  You  will  be  visited,  and  can 
ask  then.  At  present,  you  may  buy  your  food,  and  nothing 
more." 

There  were  in  the  cell,  a  chair,  a  table,  and  a  straw 
mattress.  As  the  gaoler  made  a  general  inspection  of 
these  objects,  and  of  the  four  walls,  before  going  out,  a 
wandering  fancy  wandered  through  the  mind  of  the  pris- 
oner leaning  against  the  wall  opposite  to  him,  that  this 
gaoler  was  so  unwholesomely  bloated,  both  in  face  and  per- 
son, as  to  look  like  a  man  who  had  been  drowned  and  filled 
with  water.  When  the  gaoler  was  gone,  he  thought,  in  the 
same  wandering  way,  "Now  am  I  left,  as  if  I  were  dead." 
Stopping  then,  to  look  down  at  the  mattress,  he  turned 
from  it  with  a  sick  feeling,  and  thought,  "And  here  in 
these  crawling  creatures  is  the  first  condition  of  the  body 
after  death." 

"  Five  paces  by  four  and  a  half,  five  paces  by  four  and  a 
half,  five  paces  by  four  and  a  half."  The  prisoner  walked 
to  and  fro  in  his  cell,  counting  its  measurement,  and  the 
roar  of  the  city  arose  like  muffled  drums  with  a  wild  swell 
of  voices  added  to  them.  "  He  made  shoes,  he  made  shoes, 
he  made  shoes."     The  prisoner  counted  the  measurement 


304  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

again,  and  paced  faster,  to  draw  his  mind  with  him  from 
that  latter  repetition.  "The  ghosts  that  vanished  when 
the  wicket  closed.  There  was  one  among  them,  the  appear- 
ance of  a  lady  dressed  in  black,  who  was  leaning  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  window,  and  she  had  a  light  shining  upon  her 
golden  hair,  and  she  looked  like.  .  .  .  Let  us  ride  on  again, 
for  God's  sake,  through  the  illuminated  villages  with  the 
people  all  awake!  .  .  .  He  made  shoes,  he  made  shoes, 
he  made  shoes.  .  .  .  Five  paces  by  four  and  a  half." 
With  such  scraps  tossing  and  rolling  upward  from  the 
depths  of  his  mind,  the  prisoner  walked  faster  and  faster, 
obstinately  counting  and  counting;  and  the  roar  of  the  city 
changed  to  this  extent  —  that  it  still  rolled  in  like  muffled 
drums,  but  with  the  wail  of  voices  that  he  knew,  in  the 
swell  that  rose  above  them. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    GRINDSTONE. 


Tellson's  Bank,  established  in  the  Saint  Germain 
Quarter  of  Paris,  was  in  a  wing  of  a  large  house,  ap- 
proached by  a  court-yard  and  shut  off  from  the  street  by 
a  high  wall  and  a  strong  gate.  The  house  belonged  to  a 
great  nobleman  who  had  lived  in  it  until  he  made  a  flight 
from  the  troubles,  in  his  own  cook's  dress,  and  got  across 
the  borders.  A  mere  beast  of  the  chase  flying  from  hunters, 
he  was  still  in  his  metempsychosis  no  other  than  the  same 
Monseigneur,  the  preparation  of  whose  chocolate  for  whose 
lips  had  once  occupied  three  strong  men  besides  the  cook 
in  question. 

Monseigneur  gone,  and  the  three  strong  men  absolving 
themselves  from  the  sin  of  having  drawn  his  high  wages, 
by  being  more  than  ready  and  willing  to  cut  his  throat  on 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  305 

the  altar  of  the  dawning  Republic  one  and  indivisible  of 
Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,  or  Death,  Monseigneur's  house 
had  been  first  sequestrated,  and  then  confiscated.  For, 
all  things  moved  so  fast,  and  decree  followed  decree  with 
that  fierce  precipitation,  that  now  upon  the  third  night  of 
the  autumn  month  of  September,  patriot  emissaries  of  the 
law  were  in  possession  of  Monseigneur's  house,  and  had 
marked  it  with  the  tricolour,  and  were  drinking  brandy  in 
its  state  apartments. 

A  place  of  business  in  London  like  Tellson's  place  of 
business  in  Paris,  would  soon  have  driven  the  House  out 
of  its  mind  and  into  the  Gazette.  For,  what  would 
staid  British  responsibility  and  respectability  have  said  to 
orange-trees  in  boxes  in  a  Bank  court-yard,  and  even  to  a 
Cupid  over  the  counter?  Yet  such  things  were.  Tellson's 
had  whitewashed  the  Cupid,  but  he  was  still  to  be  seen  on 
the  ceiling,  in  the  coolest  linen,  aiming  (as  he  very  often 
does)  at  money  from  morning  to  night.  Bankruptcy 
must  inevitably  have  come  of  this  young  Pagan,  in  Lom- 
bard-street, London,  and  also  of  a  curtained  alcove  in  the 
rear  of  the  immortal  boy,  and  also  of  a  looking-glass  let 
into  the  wall,  and  also  of  clerks  not  at  all  old  who  danced 
in  public  on  the  slightest  provocation.  Yet,  a  French  Tell- 
son's could  get  on  with  these  things  exceedingly  well,  and, 
as  long  as  the  times  held  together,  no  man  had  taken  fright 
at  them,  and  drawn  out  his  money. 

What  money  would  be  drawn  oat  of  Tellson's  henceforth, 
and  what  would  lie  there,  lost  and  forgotten;  what  plate 
and  jewels  would  tarnish  in  Tellson's  hiding-places, 
while  the  depositors  rusted  in  prisons,  and  when  they 
should  have  violently  perished;  how  many  accounts  with 
Tellson's  never  to  be  balanced  in  this  world,  must  be  car- 
ried over  into  the  next;  no  man  could  have  said,  that  night, 
any  more  than  Mr.  Jarvis  Lorry  could,  though  he  thought 


306  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

heavily  of  these  questions.  He  sat  by  a  newly  lighted 
wood  fire  (the  blighted  and  unfruitful  year  was  prema- 
turely cold),  and  on  his  honest  and  courageous  face  there  was 
a  deeper  shade  than  the  pendent  lamp  could  throw,  or  any 
object  in  the  room  distortedly  reflect  —  a  shade  of  horror. 

He  occupied  rooms  in  the  Bank,  in  his  fidelity  to  the 
House  of  which  he  had  grown  to  be  a  part,  like  strong 
root-ivy.  It  chanced  that  they  derived  a  kind  of  security 
from  the  patriotic  occupation  of  the  main  building,  but  the 
true-hearted  old  gentleman  never  calculated  about  that. 
All  such  circumstances  were  indifferent  to  him,  so  that 
he  did  his  duty.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  court-yard, 
under  a  colonnade,  was  extensive  standing  for  carriages  — 
where,  indeed,  some  carriages  of  Monseigneur  yet  stood. 
Against  two  of  the  pillars  were  fastened  two  great  flaring 
flambeaux,  and,  in  the  light  of  these,  standing  out  in  the  open 
air,  was  a  large  grindstone :  a  roughly  mounted  thing  which 
appeared  to  have  hurriedly  been  brought  there  from  some 
neighbouring  smithy,  or  other  workshop.  Rising  and  look- 
ing out  of  window  at  these  harmless  objects,  Mr.  Lorry 
shivered,  and  retired  to  his  seat  by  the  fire.  He  had 
opened,  not  only  the  glass  window,  but  the  lattice  blind 
outside  it,  and  he  had  closed  both  again,  and  he  shivered 
through  his  frame. 

From  the  streets  beyond  the  high  wall  and  the  strong 
gate,  there  came  the  usual  night  hum  of  the  city,  with  now 
and  then  an  indescribable  ring  in  it,  weird  and  unearthly, 
as  if  some  unwonted  sounds  of  a  terrible  nature  were  going 
up  to  Heaven. 

"  Thank  God, "  said  Mr.  Lorry,  clasping  his  hands,  "  that 
no  one  near  and  dear  to  me  is  in  this  dreadful  town  to- 
night.    May  He  have  mercy  on  all  who  are  in  danger ! " 

Soon  afterwards,  the  bell  at  the  great  gate  sounded,  and 
he  thought,  "They  have  come  back!"  and  sat  listening. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  307 

But,  there  was  no  loud  irruption  into  the  court -yard,  as  he 
had  expected,  and  he  heard  the  gate  clash  again,  and  all 
was  quiet. 

The  nervousness  and  dread  that  were  upon  him  inspired 
that  vague  uneasiness  respecting  the  Bank,  which  a  great 
charge  would  naturally  awaken,  with  such  feelings  roused. 
It  was  well  guarded,  and  he  got  up  to  go  among  the  trusty 
people  who  were  watching  it,  when  his  door  suddenly 
opened,  and  two  figures  rushed  in,  at  sight  of  which  he 
fell  back  in  amazement. 

Lucie  and  her  father!  Lucie  with  her  arms  stretched 
out  to  him,  and  with  that  old  look  of  earnestness  so  con- 
centrated and  intensified,  that  it  seemed  as  though  it  had 
been  stamped  upon  her  face  expressly  to  give  force  and 
power  to  it  in  this  one  passage  of  her  life. 

"  What  is  this !  "  cried  Mr.  Lorry,  breathless  and  confused. 
"What  is  the  matter?  Lucie!  Manette!  What  has  hap- 
pened?    What  has  brought  you  here?     What  is  it?" 

With  the  look  fixed  upon  him,  in  her  paleness  and  wild- 
ness,  she  panted  out  in  his  arms,  imploringly,  "  O  my  dear 
friend !     My  husband !  " 

"  Your  husband,  Lucie?" 

"Charles." 

"What  of  Charles?" 

"Here." 

"Here,  in  Paris?" 

"Has  been  here,  some  days  —  three  or  four  —  I  don't 
know  how  many  —  I  can't  collect  my  thoughts.  An  errand 
of  generosity  brought  him  here  unknown  to  us;  he  was 
stopped  at  the  barrier,  and  sent  to  prison." 

The  old  man  uttered  an  irrepressible  cry.  Almost  at  the 
same  moment,  the  bell  of  the  great  gate  rang  again,  and  a 
loud  noise  of  feet  and  voices  came  pouring  into  the  court- 
yard. 


308  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"What  is  that  noise?"  said  the  Doctor,  turning  towards 
the  window. 

"Don't  look!"  cried  Mr.  Lorry.  "Don't  look  out! 
Manette,   for  your  life,  don't  touch  the  blind!" 

The  Doctor  turned,  with  his  hand  upon  the  fastening  of 
the  window,  and  said,  with  a  cool  bold  smile : 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  have  a  charmed  life  in  this  city.  I 
have  been  a  Bastille  prisoner.  There  is  no  patriot  in  Paris 
—  in  Paris?  In  France  —  who,  knowing  me  to  have  been  a 
prisoner  in  the  Bastille,  would  touch  me,  except  to  over- 
whelm me  with  embraces,  or  carry  me  in  triumph.  My 
old  pain  has  given  me  a  power  that  has  brought  us 
through  the  barrier,  and  gained  us  news  of  Charles  there, 
and  brought  us  here.  I  knew  it  would  be  so;  I  knew  I 
could  help  Charles  out  of  all  danger;  I  told  Lucie  so. — 
What  is  that  noise?"  His  hand  was  again  upon  the 
window. 

"Don't  look!"  cried  Mr.  Lorry,  absolutely  desperate. 
"  No,  Lucie,  my  dear,  nor  you ! "  He  got  his  arm  round 
her,  and  held  her.  "Don't  be  so  terrified,  my  love.  I 
solemnly  swear  to  you  that  I  know  of  no  harm  having  hap- 
pened to  Charles ;  that  I  had  no  suspicion  even,  of  his  being 
in  this  fatal  place.     What  prison  is  he  in?" 

"  La  Force !  " 

"La  Force!  Lucie,  my  child,  if  ever  you  were  brave 
and  serviceable  in  your  life  —  and  you  were  always  both  — 
you  will  compose  yourself  now,  to  do  exactly  as  I  bid 
you;  for,  more  depends  upon  it  than  you  can  think,  or  I 
can  say.  There  is  no  help  for  you  in  any  action  on  your 
part  to-night;  you  cannot  possibly  stir  out.  I  say  this, 
because  what  I  must  bid  you  to  do  for  Charles's  sake,  is 
the  hardest  thing  to  do  of  all.  You  must  instantly  be 
obedient,  still,  and  quiet.  You  musb  let  me  put  you  in  a 
room  at  the  back  here.     You  must  leave  your  father  and 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  309 

me  alone  for  two  minutes,  and  as  there  are  Life  and  Death 
in  the  world  you  must  not  delay." 

"I  will  be  submissive  to  you.  I  see  in  your  face  that 
you  know  I  can  do  nothing  else  than  this.  I  know  you  are 
true." 

The  old  man  kissed  her,  and  hurried  her  into  his  room, 
and  turned  the  key ;  then,  came  hurrying  back  to  the  Doc- 
tor, and  opened  the  window  and  partly  opened  the  blind, 
and  put  his  hand  upon  the  Doctor's  arm,  and  looked  out 
with  him  into  the  court-yard. 

Looked  out  upon  a  throng  of  men  and  women:  not 
enough  in  number,  or  near  enough,  to  fill  the  court -yard: 
not  more  than  forty  or  fifty  in  all.  The  people  in  posses- 
sion of  the  house  had  let  them  in  at  the  gate,  and  they  had 
rushed  in  to  work  at  the  grindstone ;  it  had  evidently  been 
set  up  there  for  their  purpose,  as  in  a  convenient  and 
retired  spot. 

But,  such  awful  workers,  and  such  awful  work ! 

The  grindstone  had  a  double  handle,  and,  turning  at  it 
madly  were  two  men,  whose  faces,  as  their  long  hair 
flapped  back  when  the  whirlings  of  the  grindstone  brought 
their  faces  up,  were  more  horrible  and  cruel  than  the 
visages  of  the  wildest  savages  in  their  most  barbarous 
disguise.  False  eyebrows  and  false  moustaches  were  stuck 
upon  them,  and  their  hideous  countenances  were  all  bloody 
and  sweaty,  and  all  awry  with  howling,  and  all  staring  and 
glaring  with  beastly  excitement  and  want  of  sleep.  As 
these  ruffians  turned  and  turned,  their  matted  locks  now 
flung  forward  over  their  eyes,  now  flung  backward  over 
their  necks,  some  women  held  wine  to  their  mouths  that 
they  might  drink;  and  what  with  dropping  blood,  and 
what  with  dropping  wine,  and  what  with  the  stream  of 
sparks  struck  out  of  the  stone,  all  their  wicked  atmosphere 
seemed  gore  and  fire.     The  eye  could  not  detect  one  creat- 


310  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

ure  in  the  group,  free  from  the  smear  of  blood.  Shoulder- 
ing one  another  to  get  next  at  the  sharpening-stone,  were 
men  stripped  to  the  waist,  with  the  stain  all  over  their 
limbs  and  bodies ;  men  in  all  sorts  of  rags,  with  the  stain 
upon  those  rags;  men  devilishly  set  oft'  with  spoils  of 
women's  lace  and  silk  and  ribbon,  with  the  stain  dyeing 
those  trifles  through  and  through.  Hatchets,  knives,  bayo- 
nets, swords,  all  brought  to  be  sharpened,  were  all  red  with 
it.  Some  of  the  hacked  swords  were  tied  to  the  wrists  of 
those  who  carried  them,  with  strips  of  linen  and  fragments 
of  dress:  ligatures  various  in  kind,  but  all  deep  of  the 
one  colour.  And  as  the  frantic  wielders  of  these  weapons 
snatched  them  from  the  stream  of  sparks  and  tore  away 
into  the  streets,  the  same  red  hue  was  red  in  their  frenzied 
eyes ;  —  eyes  which  any  unbrutalised  beholder  would  have 
given  twenty  years  of  life,  to  petrify  with  a  well- 
directed  gun. 

All  this  was  seen  in  a  moment,  as  the  vision  of  a  drown- 
ing man,  or  of  any  human  creature  at  any  very  great  pass, 
could  see  a  world  if  it  were  there.  They  drew  back  from 
the  window,  and  the  Doctor  looked  for  explanation  in  his 
friend's  ashy  face. 

"They  are,"  Mr.  Lorry  whispered  the  words,  glancing 
fearfully  round  at  the  locked  room,  "murdering  the  pris- 
oners. If  you  are  sure  of  what  you  say;  if  you  really  have 
the  power  you  think  you  have  —  as  I  believe  you  have  — 
make  yourself  known  to  these  devils,  and  get  taken  to  La 
Force.  It  may  be  too  late,  I  don't  know,  but  let  it  not  be 
a  minute  later! " 

Doctor  Manette  pressed  his  hand,  hastened  bareheaded 
out  of  the  room,  and  was  in  the  court-yard  when  Mr.  Lorry 
regained  the  blind. 

His  streaming  white  hair,  his  remarkable  face,  and  the 
impetuous  confidence  of  his  manner,  as  he  put  the  weapons 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  311 

aside  like  water,  carried  him  in  an  instant  to  the  heart  of 
the  concourse  at  the  stone.  For  a  few  moments  there  was 
a  pause,  and  a  hurry,  and  a  murmur,  and  the  unintelligi- 
ble sound  of  his  voice;  and  then  Mr.  Lorry  saw  him,  sur- 
rounded by  all,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  line  twenty  men  long, 
all  linked  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  hand  to  shoulder,  hur- 
ried out  with  cries  of  "  Live  the  Bastille  prisoner !  Help 
for  the  Bastille  prisoner's  kindred  in  La  Force!  Room 
for  the  Bastille  prisoner  in  front  there !  Save  the  prisoner 
Evr6monde  at  La  Force ! "  and  a  thousand  answering 
shouts. 

He  closed  the  lattice  again  with  a  fluttering  heart,  closed 
the  window  and  the  curtain,  hastened  to  Lucie,  and  told 
her  that  her  father  was  assisted  by  the  people,  and  gone  in 
search  of  her  husband.  He  found  her  child  and  Miss  Pross 
with  her;  but,  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  be  surprised  by 
their  appearance  until  a  long  time  afterwards,  when  he 
sat  watching  them  in  such  quiet  as  the  night  knew. 

Lucie  had,  by  that  time,  fallen  into  a  stupor  on  the  floor 
at  his  feet,  clinging  to  his  hand.  Miss  Pross  had  laid  the 
child  down  on  his  own  bed,  and  her  head  had  gradually 
fallen  on  the  pillow  beside  her  pretty  charge.  0  the  long, 
long  night,  with  the  moans  of  the  poor  wife.  And  O  the 
long,  long  night,  with  no  return  of  her  father  and  no  tid- 
ings! 

Twice  more  in  the  darkness  the  bell  at  the  great  gat 
sounded,  and  the  irruption  was  repeated,  and  the  grind- 
stone whirled  and  spluttered.  "What  is  it?"  cried  Lucie, 
affrighted.  "Hush!  The  soldiers'  swords  are  sharpened 
there, "  said  Mr.  Lorry.  "  The  place  is  National  property 
now,  and  used  as  a  kind  of  armoury,  my  love." 

Twice  more  in  all ;  but,  the  last  spell  of  work  was  feeble 
and  fitful.  Soon  afterwards  the  day  began  to  dawn,  and  he 
softly  detached  himself  from  the  clasping  hand,  and  cau- 


312  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

tiously  looked  out  again.  A  man,  so  besmeared  that  he 
might  have  been  a  sorely  wounded  soldier  creeping  back  to 
consciousness  on  a  field  of  slain,  was  rising  from  the  pave- 
ment by  the  side  of  the  grindstone,  and  looking  about  him 
with  a  vacant  air.  Shortly,  this  worn-out  murderer  de- 
scried in  the  imperfect  light  one  of  the  carriages  of  Mon- 
seigneur,  and,  staggering  to  that  gorgeous  vehicle,  climbed 
in  at  the  door,  and  shut  himself  up  to  take  his  rest  on  its 
dainty  cushions. 

The  great  grindstone,  Earth,  had  turned  when  Mr.  Lorry 
looked  out  again,  and  the  sun  was  red  on  the  court-yard. 
But,  the  lesser  grindstone  stood  alone  there  in  the  calm 
morning  air,  with  a  red  upon  it  that  the  sun  had  never 
given,  and  would  never  take  away. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    SHADOW. 


One  of  the  first  considerations  which  arose  in  the  busi- 
ness mind  of  Mr.  Lorry  when  business  hours  came  round, 
was  this :  —  that  he  had  no  right  to  imperil  Tellson's  by 
sheltering  the  wife  of  an  emigrant  prisoner  under  the  Bank 
roof.  His  own  possessions,  safety,  life,  he  would  have 
hazarded  for  Lucie  and  her  child,  without  a  moment's 
demur;  but,  the  great  trust  he  held  was  not  his  own, 
and  as  to  that  business  charge  he  was  a  strict  man  of 
business. 

At  first,  his  mind  reverted  to  Defarge,  and  he  thought  of 
finding  out  the  wine-shop  again  and  taking  counsel  with 
its  master  in  reference  to  the  safest  dwelling-place  in  the 
distracted  state  of  the  city.  But,  the  same  consideration 
that  suggested  him,  repudiated  him;  he  lived  in  the  most 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  313 

violent  Quarter,   and  doubtless  was    influential  there,  and 
deep  in  its  dangerous  workings. 

Noon  coming,  and  the  Doctor  not  returning,  and  every 
minute's  delay  tending  to  compromise  Tellson's,  Mr.  Lorry 
advised  with  Lucie.  She  said  that  her  father  had  spoken 
of  hiring  a  lodging  for  a  short  term,  in  that  Quarter,  near 
the  Banking-house.  As  there  was  no  business  objection 
to  this,  and  as  he  foresaw  that  even  if  it  were  all  well  with 
Charles,  and  he  were  to  be  released,  he  could  not  hope  to 
leave  the  city,  Mr.  Lorry  went  out  in  quest  of  such  a  lodg- 
ing, and  found  a  suitable  one,  high  up  in  a  removed  by- 
street where  the  closed  blinds  in  all  the  other  windows 
of  a  high  melancholy  square  of  buildings  marked  deserted 
homes. 

To  this  lodging  he  at  once  removed  Lucie  and  her  child, 
and  Miss  Pross :  giving  them  what  comfort  he  could,  and 
much  more  than  he  had  himself.  He  left  Jerry  with  them, 
as  a  figure  to  fill  a  doorway  that  would  bear  considerable 
knocking  on  the  head,  and  returned  to  his  own  occupations. 
A  disturbed  and  doleful  mind  he  brought  to  bear  upon  them, 
and  slowly  and  heavily  the  day  lagged  on  with  him. 

It  wore  itself  out,  and  wore  him  out  with  it,  until  the 
Bank  closed.  He  was  again  alone  in  his  room  of  the  previ- 
ous night,  considering  what  to  do  next,  when  he  heard  a 
foot  upon  the  stair.  In  a  few  moments,  a  man  stood  in 
his  presence,  who,  with  a  keenly  observant  look  at  him, 
addressed  him  by  his  name. 

"Your  servant,"  said  Mr.  Lorry.     "Do  you  know  me?" 

He  was  a  strongly  made  man  with  dark  curling  hair, 
from  forty-five  to  fifty  years  of  age.  For  answer  he  re* 
peated,  without  any  change  of  emphasis,  the  words : 

"  Do  you  know  me?  " 

"I  have  seen  you  somewhere." 

"Perhaps  at  my  wine-shop?" 


314  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Much  interested   and  agitated,   Mr.   Lorry  said :    "  You 

come  from  Doctor  Manette?" 

"Yes.     I  come  from  Doctor  Manette." 

"And  what  says  he?     What  does  he  send  me?" 

Defarge  gave  into  his  anxious  hand,  an  open  scrap  of 

paper.     It  bore  the  words  in  the  Doctor's  writing, 

"Charles  is  safe,  but  I  cannot  safely  leave  this  place 
yet.  I  have  obtained  the  favour  that  the  bearer  has  a  short 
note  from  Charles  to  his  wife.     Let  the  bearer  see  his  wife." 

It  was  dated  from  La  Force,  within  an  hour. 

"Will  you  accompany  me,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  joyfully  re- 
lieved after  reading  this  note  aloud,  "to  where  his  wife 
resides?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Defarge. 

Scarcely  noticing,  as  yet,  in  what  a  curiously  reserved 
and  mechanical  way  Defarge  spoke,  Mr.  Lorry  put  on  his 
hat  and  they  went  down  into  the  court-yard.  There,  they 
found  two  women,  one,  knitting. 

"  Madame  Defarge,  surely ! "  said  Mr.  Lorry,  who  had 
left  her  in  exactly  the  same  attitude  some  seventeen  years 
ago. 

"It  is  she,"  observed  her  husband. 

"Does  Madame  go  with  us?"  inquired  Mr.  Lorry,  seeing 
that  she  moved  as  they  moved. 

"Yes.  That  she  may  be  able  to  recognise  the  faces  and 
know  the  persons.     It  is  for  their  safety." 

Beginning  to  be  struck  by  Defarge's  manner,  Mr.  Lorry 
looked  dubiously  at  him,  and  led  the  way .  Both  the  women 
followed;  the  second  woman  being  The  Vengeance. 

They  passed  through  the  intervening  streets  as  quickly 
as  they  might,  ascended  the  staircase  of  the  new  domicile, 
were  admitted  by  Jerry,  and  found  Lucie  weeping,  alone. 
She  was  thrown  into  a  transport  by  the  tidings  Mr.  Lorry 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  315 

gave  her  of  her  husband,  and  clasped  the  hand  that  deliv- 
ered his  note  —  little  thinking  what  it  had  been  doing  near 
him  in  the  night,  and  might,  but  for  a  chance,  have  done 
to  him. 

"Dearest, —  Take  courage.  I  am  well,  and  your  father 
has  influence  around  me.  You  cannot  answer  this.  Kiss 
our  child  for  me."  ■ 

That  was  all  the  writing.  It  was  so  much,  however,  to 
her  who  received  it,  that  she  turned  from  Defarge  to  his 
wife,  and  kissed  one  of  the  hands  that  knitted.  It  was  a 
passionate,  loving,  thankful,  womanly  action,  but  the  hand 
made  no  response  —  dropped  cold  and  heavy,  and  took  to 
its  knitting  again. 

There  was  something  in  its  touch  that  gave  Lucie  a  check. 
She  stopped  in  the  act  of  putting  the  note  in  her  bosom, 
and,  with  her  hands  yet  at  her  neck,  looked  terrified  at 
Madame  Defarge.  Madame  Defarge  met  the  lifted  eyebrows 
and  forehead  with  a  cold  impassive  stare. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  striking  in  to  explain;  "  there 
are  frequent  risings  in  the  streets;  and,  although  it  is  not 
likely  they  will  ever  trouble  you,  Madame  Defarge  wishes 
to  see  those  whom  she  has  the  power  to  protect  at  such 
times,  to  the  end  that  she  may  know  them  —  that  she  may 
identify  them.  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  rather  halting 
in  his  reassuring  words,  as  the  stony  manner  of  all  the 
three  impressed  itself  upon  him  more  and  more,  "  I  state 
the  case,  Citizen  Defarge?" 

Defarge  looked  gloomily  at  his  wife,  and  gave  no  other 
answer  than  a  gruff  sound  of  acquiescence. 

"You  had  better,  Lucie,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  doing  all  he 
could  to  propitiate,  by  tone  and  manner,  "have  the  dear 
child  here,  and  our  good  Pross.  Our  good  Pross,  Defarge, 
is  an  English  lady,  and  knows  no  French." 


316  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

The  lady  in  question,  whose  rooted  conviction  that  she 
was  more  than  a  match  for  any  foreigner,  was  not  to  be 
shaken  by  distress  and  danger,  appeared  with  folded  arms, 
and  observed  in  English  to  The  Vengeance,  whom  her  eyes 
first  encountered,  "  Well,  I  am  sure,  Boldface !  I  hope  you 
are  pretty  well ! "  She  also  bestowed  a  British  cough  on 
Madame  Defarge;  but,  neither  of  the  two  took  much  heed 
of  her. 

"Is  that  his  child?"  said  Madame  Defarge,  stopping  in 
her  work  for  the  first  time,  and  pointing  her  knitting-needle 
at  little  Lucie  as  if  it  were  the  finger  of  Fate. 

"  Yes,  madame, "  answered  Mr.  Lorry ;  "  this  is  our  poor 
prisoner's  darling  daughter,  and  only  child." 

The  shadow  attendant  on  Madame  Defarge  and  her  party 
seemed  to  fall  so  threatening  and  dark  on  the  child,  that 
her  mother  instinctively  kneeled  on  the  ground  beside  her, 
and  held  her  to  her  breast.  The  shadow  attendant  on 
Madame  Defarge  and  her  party  seemed  then  to  fall, 
threatening  and  dark,  on  both  the  mother  and  the  child. 

"It  is  enough,  my  husband,"  said  Madame  Defarge.  "I 
have  seen  them.     We  may  go." 

But,  the  suppressed  manner  had  enough  of  menace  in  it 

—  not  visible  and  presented,  but  indistinct  and  withheld 

—  to  alarm  Lucie  into  saying,  as  she  laid  her  appealing 
hand  on  Madame  Defarge's  dress: 

"You  will  be  good  to  my  poor  husband.  You  will 
do  him  no  harm.  You  will  help  me  to  see  him  if  you 
can?" 

"Your  husband  is  not  my  business  here,"  returned 
Madame  Defarge,  looking  down  at  her  with  perfect  compos- 
ure. "  It  is  the  daughter  of  your  father  who  is  my  busi- 
ness here." 

"For  my  sake,  then,  be  merciful  to  my  husband.  For 
my  child's  sake!     She  will  put  her  hands  together  and  pray 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  317 

you  to  be  merciful.     We  are  more  afraid  of  you  than  of 
these  others." 

Madame  Defarge  received  it  as  a  compliment,  and  looked 
at  her  husband.  Defarge,  who  had  been  uneasily  biting 
his  thumb-nail  and  looking  at  her,  collected  his  face  into  a 
sterner  expression. 

"What  is  it  that  your  husband  says  in  that  little  letter?  " 
asked  Madame  Defarge,  with  a  lowering  smile.  "Influ- 
ence; he  says  something  touching  influence?" 

"That  my  father,"  said  Lucie,  hurriedly  taking  the  paper 
from  her  breast,  but  with  her  alarmed  eyes  on  her  ques- 
tioner and  not  on  it,  "has  much  influence  around  him." 

"Surely  it  will  release  him!"  said  Madame  Defarge. 
"Let  it  do  so." 

"As  a  wife  and  mother,"  cried  Lucie,  most  earnestly,  "I 
implore  you  to  have  pity  on  me  and  not  to  exercise  any 
power  that  you  possess,  against  my  innocent  husband,  but 
to  use  it  in  his  behalf.  0  sister-woman,  think  of  me.  As 
a  wife  and  mother !  " 

Madame  Defarge  looked,  coldly  as  ever,  at  the  suppliant, 
and  said,  turning  to  her  friend  The  Vengeance: 

"  The  wives  and  mothers  we  have  been  used  to  see,  since 
we  were  as  little  as  this  child,  and  much  less,  have  not  been 
greatly  considered?  We  have  known  their  husbands  and 
fathers  laid  in  prison  and  kept  from  them,  often  enough? 
All  our  lives,  we  have  seen  our  sister-women  suffer,  in 
themselves  and  in  their  children,  poverty,  nakedness, 
hunger,  thirst,  sickness,  misery,  oppression  and  neglect  of 
all  kinds?" 

"We  have  seen  nothing  else,"  returned  The  Vengeance. 

"  We  have  borne  this  a  long  time, "  said  Madame  Defarge, 
turning  her  eyes  again  upon  Lucie.  "Judge  you!  Is  it 
likely  that  the  trouble  of  one  wife  and  mother  would  be 
much  to  us  now?" 


318  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

She  resumed  her  knitting  and  went  out.  The  Vengeance 
followed.     Defarge  went  last,  and  closed  the  door. 

"Courage,  my  dear  Lucie,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  as  he  raised 
her.  "  Courage,  courage !  So  far  all  goes  well  with  us  — 
much,  much  better  than  it  has  of  late  gone  with  many  poor 
souls.     Cheer  up,  and  have  a  thankful  heart." 

"I  am  not  thankless,  I  hope,  but  that  dreadful  womar 
seems  to  throw  a  shadow  on  me  and  on  all  my  hopes." 

"Tut,  tut!"  said  Mr.  Lorry;  "what  is  this  despondency 
in  the  brave  little  breast?  A  shadow  indeed!  ISTo  sub- 
stance in  it,  Lucie." 

But  the  shadow  of  the  manner  of  these  Defarges  was 
dark  upon  himself,  for  all  that,  and  in  his  secret  mind  it 
troubled  him  greatly. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CALM    IN    STORM. 


Doctor  Manette  did  not  return  until  the  morning  of 
the  fourth  day  of  his  absence.  So  much  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  that  dreadful  time  as  could  be  kept  from  the 
knowledge  of  Lucie  was  so  well  concealed  from  her,  that 
not  until  long  afterwards  when  France  and  she  were  wide 
apart,  did  she  know  that  eleven  hundred  defenceless  pris- 
oners of  both  sexes  and  all  ages  had  been  killed  by  the 
populace;  that  four  days  and  nights  had  been  darkened  by 
this  deed  of  horror ;  and  that  the  air  around  her  had  been 
tainted  by  the  slain.  She  only  knew  that  there  had  been 
an  attack  upon  the  prisons,  that  all  political  prisoners  had 
been  in  danger,  and  that  some  had  been  dragged  out  by  the 
crowd  and  murdered. 

To  Mr.  Lorry,  the  Doctor  communicated  under  an  in- 
junction of  secrecy  on  which  he  had  no  need  to  dwell,  that 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  319 

the  crowd  had  taken  him  through  a  scene  of  carnage  to  the 
prison  of  La  Force.  That,  in  the  prison  he  had  found  a 
self-appointed  Tribunal  sitting,  before  which  the  prisoners 
were  brought  singly,  and  by  which  they  were  rapidly 
ordered  to  be  put  forth  to  be  massacred,  or  to  be  released, 
or  (in  a  few  cases)  to  be  sent  back  to  their  cells.  That, 
presented  by  his  conductors  to  this  Tribunal,  he  had  an- 
nounced himself  by  name  and  profession  as  having  been 
for  eighteen  years  a  secret  and  an  unaccused  prisoner  in 
the  Bastille;  that,  one  of  the  body  so  sitting  in  judgment 
had  risen  and  identified  him,  and  that  this  man  was 
Defarge. 

That,  hereupon  he  had  ascertained,  through  the  registers 
on  the  table,  that  his  son-in-law  was  among  the  living 
prisoners,  and  had  pleaded  hard  to  the  Tribunal  —  of 
whom  some  members  were  asleep  and  some  awake,  some 
dirty  with  murder  and  some  clean,  some  sober  and  some 
not  —  for  his  life  and  liberty.  That,  in  the  first  frantic 
greetings  lavished  on  himself  as  a  notable  sufferer  under 
the  overthrown  system,  it  had  been  accorded  to  him  to  have 
Charles  Darnay  brought  before  the  lawless  Court,  and  ex- 
amined. That,  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  being  at  once 
released,  when  the  tide  in  his  favour  met  with  some  unex- 
plained check  (not  intelligible  to  the  Doctor),  which  led  to 
a  few  words  of  secret  conference.  That,  the  man  sitting 
as  President  had  then  informed  Doctor  Manette  that  the 
prisoner  must  remain  in  custody,  but  should,  for  his  sake, 
be  held  inviolate  in  safe  custody.  That,  immediately,  on 
a  signal,  the  prisoner  was  removed  to  the  interior  of  the 
prison  again;  but,  that  he,  the  Doctor,  had  then  so  strongly 
pleaded  for  permission  to  remain  and  assure  himself  that 
his  son-in-law  was,  through  no  malice  or  mischance,  deliv- 
ered to  the  concourse  whose  murderous  yells  outside  the 
gate  had  often  drowned  the  proceedings,  that  he  had  ob- 


320  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

tained  the  permission,  and  had  remained  in  that  Hall  of 
Blood  until  the  danger  was  over. 

The  sights  he  had  seen  there,  with  brief  snatches  of  food 
and  sleep  by  intervals,  shall  remain  untold.  The  mad  joy 
over  the  prisoners  who  were  saved,  had  astounded  him 
scarcely  less  than  the  mad  ferocity  against  those  who  were 
cut  to  pieces.  One  prisoner  there  was,  he  said,  who  had 
been  discharged  into  the  street  free,  but  at  whom  a  mis- 
taken savage  had  thrust  a  pike  as  he  passed  out.  Being 
besought  to  go  to  him  and  dress  the  wound,  the  Doctor  had 
passed  out  at  the  same  gate,  and  had  found  him  in  the 
arms  of  a  company  of  Samaritans,  who  were  seated  on  the 
bodies  of  their  victims.  With  an  inconsistency  as  mon- 
strous as  anything  in  this  awful  nightmare,  they  had  helped 
the  healer,  and  tended  the  wounded  man  with  the  gentlest 
solicitude  —  had  made  a  litter  for  him  and  escorted  him 
carefully  from  the  spot  —  had  then  caught  up  their  weap- 
ons and  plunged  anew  into  a  butchery  so  dreadful,  that  the 
Doctor  had  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  swooned 
away  in  the  midst  of  it. 

As  Mr.  Lorry  received  these  confidences,  and  as  he 
watched  the  face  of  his  friend  now  sixty-two  years  of  age, 
a  misgiving  arose  within  him  that  such  dread  experiences 
would  revive  the  old  danger.  But,  he  had  never  seen  his 
friend  in  his  present  aspect;  he  had  never  at  all  known 
him  in  his  present  character.  For  the  first  time  the  Doctor 
felt,  now,  that  his  suffering  was  strength  and  power.  For 
the  first  time,  he  felt  that  in  that  sharp  fire,  he  had  slowly 
forged  the  iron  which  could  break  the  prison  door  of  his 
daughter's  husband,  and  deliver  him.  "It  all  tended  to  a 
good  end,  my  friend;  it  was  not  mere  waste  and  ruin.  As 
my  beloved  child  was  helpful  in  restoring  me  to  myself,  I 
will  be  helpful  now  in  restoring  the  dearest  part  of  herself 
to  her;  by  the  aid  of  Heaven  I  will  do  it!  "     Thus,  Doctor 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  321 

Manette.  And  when  Jarvis  Lorry  saw  the  kindled  eyes, 
the  resolute  face,  the  calm  strong  look  and  bearing  of  the 
man  whose  life  always  seemed  to  him  to  have  been  stopped, 
like  a  clock,  for  so  many  years,  and  then  set  going  again 
with  an  energy  which  had  lain  dormant  during  the  cessa- 
tion of  its  usefulness,  he  believed. 

Greater  things  than  the  Doctor  had  at  that  time  to  con- 
tend with,  would  have  yielded  before  his  persevering  pur- 
pose. While  he  kept  himself  in  his  place,  as  a  physician 
whose  business  was  with  all  degrees  of  mankind,  bond  and 
free,  rich  and  poor,  bad  and  good,  he  used  his  personal 
influence  so  wisely,  that  he  was  soon  the  inspecting  phy- 
sician of  three  prisons,  and  among  them  of  La  Force.  He 
could  now  assure  Lucie  that  her  husband  was  no  longer  con- 
fined alone,  but  was  mixed  with  the  general  body  of  prison- 
ers ;  he  saw  her  husband  weekly,  and  brought  sweet  mes- 
sages to  her,  straight  from  his  lips ;  sometimes  her  husband 
himself  sent  a  letter  to  her  (though  never  by  the  Doctor's 
hand),  but  she  was  not  permitted  to  write  to  him;  for, 
among  the  many  wild  suspicions  of  plots  in  the  prisons,  the 
wildest  of  all  pointed  at  emigrants  who  were  known  to  have 
made  friends  or  permanent  connexions  abroad. 

This  new  life  of  the  Doctor's  was  an  anxious  life,  no 
doubt,  still,  the  sagacious  Mr.  Lorry  saw  that  there  was  a 
new  sustaining  pride  in  it.  Nothing  unbecoming  tinged 
the  pride;  it  was  a  natural  and  worthy  one;  but  he  ob- 
served it  as  a  curiosity.  The  Doctor  knew,  that  up  to  that 
time,  his  imprisonment  had  been  associated  in  the  minds 
of  his  daughter  and  his  friend,  with  his  personal  affliction, 
deprivation,  and  weakness.  Now  that  this  was  changed, 
and  he  knew  himself  to  be  invested  through  that  old  trial 
with  forces  to  which  they  both  looked  for  Charles's  ultimate 
safety  and  deliverance,  he  became  so  far  exalted  by  the 
change,  that  he  took  the  lead  and  direction,  and  required 


322  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

them  as  the  weak,  to  trust  to  him  as  the  strong.  The 
preceding  relative  positions  of  himself  and  Lucie  were 
reversed,  yet  only  as  the  liveliest  gratitude  and  affection 
could  reverse  them,  for  he  could  have  had  no  pride  but  in 
rendering  some  service  to  her  who  had  rendered  so  much 
to  him.  "All  curious  to  see,"  thought  Mr.  Lorry,  in  his 
amiably  shrewd  way,  "but  all  natural  and  right;  so,  take 
the  lead,  my  dear  friend,  and  keep  it;  it  couldn't  be  in 
better  hands." 

But,  though  the  Doctor  tried  hard,  and  never  ceased  try- 
ing, to  get  Charles  Darnay  set  at  liberty,  or  at  least  to  get 
him  brought  to  trial,  the  public  current  of  the  time  set  too 
strong  and  fast  for  him.  The  new  Era  began;  the  king 
was  tried,  doomed,  and  beheaded;  the  Republic  of  Liberty, 
Equality,  Fraternity,  or  Death,  declared  for  victory  or 
death  against  the  world  in  arms ;  the  black  flag  waved  night 
and  day  from  the  great  towers  of  Notre-Dame ;  three  hun- 
dred thousand  men,  summoned  to  rise  against  the  tyrants 
of  the  earth,  rose  from  all  the  varying  soils  of  France,  as 
if  the  dragon's  teeth  had  been  sown  broadcast,  and  had 
yielded  fruit  equally  on  hill  and  plain,  on  rock  in  gravel 
and  alluvial  mud,  under  the  bright  sky  of  the  South  and 
under  the  clouds  of  the  North,  in  fell  and  forest,  in  the 
vineyards  and  the  olive-grounds  and  among  the  cropped 
grass  and  the  stubble  of  the  corn,  along  the  fruitful  banks 
of  the  broad  rivers,  and  in  the  sand  of  the  sea-shore.  What 
private  solicitude  could  rear  itself  against  the  deluge  of  the 
Year  One  of  Liberty  —  the  deluge  rising  from  below,  not 
falling  from  above,  and  with  the  windows  of  Heaven  shut, 
not  opened! 

There  was  no  pause,  no  pity,  no  peace,  no  interval  of 
relenting  rest,  no  measurement  of  time.  Though  days  and 
nights  circled  as  regularly  as  when  time  was  young,  and 
the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  first  day,  other  count 


A    TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  323 

of  time  there  was  none.  Hold  of  it  was  lost  in  the  raging 
fever  of  a  nation,  as  it  is  in  the  fever  of  one  patient.  Now, 
breaking  the  unnatural  silence  of  a  whole  city,  the  execu- 
tioner showed  the  people  the  head  of  the  king  —  and  now, 
it  seemed  almost  in  the  same  breath,  the  head  of  his  fair 
wife  which  had  had  eight  weary  months  of  imprisoned 
widowhood  and  misery,  to  turn  it  grey. 

And  yet,  observing  the  strange  law  of  contradiction  which 
obtains  in  all  such  cases,  the  time  was  long,  while  it  flamed 
by  so  fast.  A  revolutionary  tribunal  in  the  capital,  and 
forty  or  fifty  thousand  revolutionary  committees  all  over 
the  land;  a  law  of  the  Suspected,  which  struck  away  all 
security  for  liberty  or  life,  and  delivered  over  any  good 
and  innocent  person  to  any  bad  and  guilty  one;  prisons 
gorged  with  people  who  had  committed  no  offence,  and  could 
obtain  no  hearing;  these  things  became  the  established 
order  and  nature  of  appointed  things,  and  seemed  to  be 
ancient  usage  before  they  were  many  weeks  old.  Above 
all,  one  hideous  figure  grew  as  familiar  as  if  it  had  been 
before  the  general  gaze  from  the  foundations  of  the  world 
—  the  figure  of  the  sharp  female  called  La  Guillotine. 

It  was  the  popular  theme  for  jests ;  it  was  the  best  cure 
for  headache,  it  infallibly  prevented  the  hair  from  turning 
grey,  it  imparted  a  peculiar  delicacy  to  the  complexion,  it 
was  the  National  Razor  which  shaved  close:  who  kissed 
La  Guillotine,  looked  through  the  little  window  and  sneezed 
into  the  sack.  It  was  the  sign  of  the  regeneration  of  the 
human  race.  It  superseded  the  Cross.  Models  of  it  were 
worn  on  breasts  from  which  the  Cross  was  discarded,  and 
it  was  bowed  down  to  and  believed  in  where  the  Cross  was 
denied. 

It  sheared  off  heads  so  many,  that  it,  and  the  ground  it 
most  polluted,  were  a  rotten  red.  It  was  taken  to  pieces, 
like  a  toy-puzzle  for  a  young  Devil,  and  was  put  together 


324  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

again  when  the  occasion  wanted  it.  It  hushed  the  eloquent, 
struck  down  the  powerful,  abolished  the  beautiful  and  good. 
Twenty-two  friends  of  high  public  mark,  twenty-one  living 
and  one  dead,  it  had  lopped  the  heads  off,  in  one  morning, 
in  as  many  minutes. 

Among  these  terrors,  and  the  brood  belonging  to  them, 
the  Doctor  walked  with  a  steady  head:  confident  in  his 
power,  cautiously  persistent  in  his  end,  never  doubting  that 
he  would  save  Lucie's  husband  at  last.  Yet  the  current  of 
the  time  swept  by,  so  strong  and  deep,  and  carried  the 
time  away  so  fiercely,  that  Charles  had  lain  in  prison  one 
year  and  three  months  when  the  Doctor  was  thus  steady 
and  confident.  So  much  more  wicked  and  distracted  had 
the  Revolution  grown  in  that  December  month,  that  the 
rivers  of  the  South  were  encumbered  with  the  bodies  of 
the  violently  drowned  by  night,  and  prisoners  were  shot  in 
lines  and  squares  under  the  southern  wintry  sun.  Still, 
the  Doctor  walked  among  the  terrors  with  a  steady  head. 
No  man  better  known  than  he,  in  Paris  at  that  day ;  no  man 
in  a  stranger  situation.  Silent,  humane,  indispensable  in 
hospital  and  prison,  using  his  art  equally  among  assassins 
and  victims,  he  was  a  man  apart.  In  the  exercise  of  his 
skill,  the  appearance  and  the  story  of  the  Bastille  Captive 
removed  him  from  all  other  men.  He  was  not  suspected 
or  brought  in  question,  any  more  than  if  he  had  indeed 
been  recalled  to  life  some  eighteen  years  before,  or  were  a 
Spirit  moving  among  mortals. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  325 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    WOOD-SAWYER. 

One  year  and  three  months.  During  all  that  time  Lucie 
was  never  sure,  from  hour  to  hour,  but  that  the  Guillotine 
would  strike  off  her  husband's  head  next  day.  Every  day, 
through  the  stony  streets,  the  tumbrils  now  jolted  heavily, 
filled  with  Condemned.  Lovely  girls;  bright  women, 
brown-haired,  black-haired,  and  grey;  youths;  stalwart 
men  and  old;  gentle  born  and  peasant  born;  all  red  wine 
for  La  Guillotine,  all  daily  brought  into  light  from  the 
dark  cellars  of  the  loathsome  prisons,  and  carried  to  her 
through  the  streets  to  slake  her  devouring  thirst.  Liberty, 
equality,  fraternity,  or  death;  —  the  last,  much  the  easiest 
to  bestow,  0  Guillotine ! 

If  the  suddenness  of  her  calamity,  and  the  whirling 
wheels  of  the  time,  had  stunned  the  Doctor's  daughter  into 
awaiting  the  result  in  idle  despair,  it  would  but  have  been 
with  her  as  it  was  with  many.  But,  from  the  hour  when 
she  had  taken  the  white  head  to  her  fresh  young  bosom  in 
the  garret  of  Saint  Antoine,  she  had  been  true  to  her  duties. 
She  was  truest  to  them  in  the  season  of  trial,  as  all  the 
quietly  loyal  and  good  will  always  be. 

As  soon  as  they  were  established  in  their  new  residence, 
and  her  father  had  entered  on  the  routine  of  his  avocations, 
she  arranged  the  little  household  as  exactly  as  if  her  hus- 
band had  been  there.  Everything  had  its  appointed  place 
and  its  appointed  time.  Little  Lucie  she  taught,  as  regu- 
larly, as  if  they  had  all  been  united  in  their  English  home. 
The  slight  devices  with  which  she  cheated  herself  into  the 
show  of  a  belief  that  they  would  soon  be  reunited  —  the 


326  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

little  preparations  for  his  speedy  return,  the  setting  aside 
of  his  chair  and  his  books  —  these,  and  the  solemn  prayer 
at  night  for  one  dear  prisoner  especially,  among  the  many 
unhappy  souls  in  prison  and  the  shadow  of  death  —  were 
almost  the  only  outspoken  reliefs  of  her  heavy  mind. 

She  did  not  greatly  alter  in  appearance.  The  plain  dark 
dresses,  akin  to  mourning  dresses,  which  she  and  her  child 
wore,  were  as  neat  and  as  well  attended  to  as  the  brighter 
clothes  of  happy  days.  She  lost  her  colour,  and  the  old 
intent  expression  was  a  constant,  not  an  occasional,  thing; 
otherwise,  she  remained  very  pretty  and  comely.  Some- 
times, at  night  on  kissing  her  father,  she  would  burst  into 
the  grief  she  had  repressed  all  day,  and  would  say  that  her 
sole  reliance,  under  Heaven,  was  on  him.  He  always  reso- 
lutely answered :  "  Nothing  can  happen  to  him  without  my 
knowledge,  and  I  know  that  I  can  save  him,  Lucie." 

They  had  not  made  the  round  of  their  changed  life,  many 
weeks,  when  her  father  said  to  her,  on  coming  home  one 
evening : 

"My  dear,  there  is  an  upper  window  in  the  prison,  to 
which  Charles  can  sometimes  gain  access  at  three  in  the 
afternoon.  When  he  can  get  to  it  —  which  depends  on 
many  uncertainties  and  incidents  —  he  might  see  you  in 
the  street,  he  thinks,  if  you  stood  in  a  certain  place  that  I 
can  show  you.  But  you  will  not  be  able  to  see  him,  my 
poor  child,  and  even  if  you  could,  it  would  be  unsafe  for 
you  to  make  a  sign  of  recognition." 

"0  show  me  the  place,  my  father,  and  I  will  go  there 
every  day." 

From  that  time,  in  all  weathers,  she  waited  there  two 
hours.  As  the  clock  struck  two,  she  was  there,  and  at  four 
she  turned  resignedly  away.  "When  it  was  not  too  wet  or 
inclement  for  her  child  to  be  with  her,  they  went  together ;  at 
other  times  she  was  alone ;  but,  she  never  missed  a  single  day. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  327 

It  was  the  dark  and  dirty  corner  of  a  small  winding 
street.  The  hovel  of  a  cutter  of  wood  into  lengths  for 
burning,  was  the  only  house  at  that  end;  all  else  was  wall. 
On  the  third  day  of  her  being  there,  he  noticed  her. 

"Good  day,  citizeness." 

"Good  day,  citizen." 

This  mode  of  address  was  now  prescribed  by  decree.  It 
had  been  established  voluntarily  some  time  ago,  among  the 
more  thorough  patriots;  but,  it  was  now  law  for  everybody. 

"Walking  here  again,  citizeness?" 

"  You  see  me,  citizen !  " 

The  wood-sawyer,  who  was  a  little  man  with  a  redundancy 
of  gesture  (he  had  once  been  a  mender  of  roads),  cast  a 
glance  at  the  prison,  pointed  at  the  prison,  and  putting  his 
ten  fingers  before  his  face  to  represent  bars,  peeped  through 
them  jocosely. 

"But  it's  not  my  business,"  said  he.  And  went  on  saw- 
ing his  wood. 

Next  day,  he  was  looking  out  for  her,  and  accosted  her 
the  moment  she  appeared. 

"What!     Walking  here  again,  citizeness?" 

"Yes,  citizen." 

"Ah!  A  child  too!  Your  mother,  is  it  not,  my  little 
citizeness?" 

"Do  I  say  yes,  mamma?"  whispered  little  Lucie,  draw- 
ing close  to  her. 

"Yes,  dearest." 

"Yes,  citizen." 

"Ah!  But  it's  not  my  business.  My  work  is  my  busi- 
ness. See  my  saw!  I  call  it  my  Little  Guillotine.  La, 
la,  la ;  La,  la,  la !     And  off  his  head  comes !  " 

The  billet  fell  as  he  spoke,  and  he  threw  it  into  a  basket. 

"I  call  myself  the  Sanson  of  the  firewood  guillotine. 
See  here  again!     Loo,  loo,  loo;  Loo,  loo,  loo!     And  off  her 


328  A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

head  comes !     Now,  a  child.     Tickle,  tickle ;  Pickle,  pickle ! 
And  off  Us  head  comes.     All  the  family!  " 

Lucie  shuddered  as  he  threw  two  more  billets  into  his 
basket,  but  it  was  impossible  to  be  there  while  the  wood- 
sawyer  was  at  work,  and  not  be  in  his  sight.  Thence- 
forth, to  secure  his  good  will,  she  always  spoke  to  him 
first,  and  often  gave  him  drink-money,  which  he  readily 
received. 

He  was  an  inquisitive  fellow,  and  sometimes  when  she 
had  quite  forgotten  him  in  gazing  at  the  prison  roof  and 
grates,  and  in  lifting  her  heart  up  to  her  husband,  she 
would  come  to  herself  to  find  him  looking  at  her,  with  his 
knee  on  his  bench  and  his  saw  stopped  in  its  work.  "But 
it's  not  my  business!"  he  would  generally  say  at  those 
times,  and  would  briskly  fall  to  his  sawing  again. 

In  all  weathers,  in  the  snow  and  frost  of  winter,  in  the 
bitter  winds  of  spring,  in  the  hot  sunshine  of  summer,  in 
the  rains  of  autumn,  and  again  in  the  snow  and  frost  of 
winter,  Lucie  passed  two  hours  of  every  day  at  this  place; 
and  every  day,  on  leaving  it,  she  kissed  the  prison  wall. 
Her  husband  saw  her  (so  she  learned  from  her  father)  it 
might  be  once  in  five  or  six  times :  it  might  be  twice  or 
thrice  running :  it  might  be,  not  for  a  week  or  a  fortnight 
together.  It  was  enough  that  he  could  and  did  see  her 
when  the  chances  served,  and  on  that  possibility  she  would 
have  waited  out  the  day,  seven  days  a  week. 

These  occupations  brought  her  round  to  the  December 
month,  wherein  her  father  walked  among  the  terrors  with 
a  steady  head.  On  a  lightly-snowing  afternoon  she  arrived 
at  the  usual  corner.  It  was  a  day  of  some  wild  rejoicing, 
and  a  festival.  She  had  seen  the  houses,  as  she  came  along, 
decorated  with  little  pikes,  and  with  little  red  caps  stuck 
upon  them;  also,  with  tricoloured  ribbons;  also,  with  the 
standard  inscription  (tricoloured  letters  were  the  favour- 


A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES.  329 

ite),   Eepublic  One  and  Indivisible.      Liberty,   Equality, 
Fraternity,  or  Death! 

The  miserable  shop  of  the  wood-sawyer  was  so  small, 
that  its  whole  surface  furnished  very  indifferent  space  for 
this  legend.  He  had  got  somebody  to  scrawl  it  up  for  him, 
however,  who  had  squeezed  Death  in  with  most  inappro- 
priate difficulty.  On  his  house-top,  he  displayed  pike  and 
cap,  as  a  good  citizen  must,  and  in  a  window  he  had  sta- 
tioned his  saw,  inscribed  as  his  "  Little  Sainte  Guillotine  " 
—  for  the  great  sharp  female  was  by  that  time  popularly 
canonised.  His  shop  was  shut  and  he  was  not  there, 
which  was  a  relief  to  Lucie,  and  left  her  quite  alone. 

But,  he  was  not  far  off,  for  presently  she  heard  a 
troubled  movement  and  a  shouting  coming  along,  which 
filled  her  with  fear.  A  moment  afterwards,  and  a  throng 
of  people  came  pouring  round  the  corner  by  the  prison 
wall,  in  the  midst  of  whom  was  the  wood-sawyer  hand  in 
hand  with  The  Vengeance.  There  could  not  be  fewer  than 
five  hundred  people,  and  they  were  dancing  like  five  thou- 
sand demons.  There  was  no  other  music  than  their  own 
singing.  They  danced  to  the  popular  Revolution  song, 
keeping  a  ferocious  time  that  was  like  a  gnashing  of  teeth 
in  unison.  Men  and  women  danced  together,  women  danced 
together,  men  danced  together,  as  hazard  had  brought 
them  together.  At  first,  they  were  a  mere  storm  of  coarse 
red- caps  and  coarser  woollen  rags;  but,  as  they  filled  the 
place,  and  stopped  to  dance  about  Lucie,  some  ghastly 
apparition  of  a  dance-figure  gone  raving  mad  arose  among 
them.  They  advanced,  retreated,  struck  at  one  another's 
hands,  clutched  at  one  another's  heads,  spun  round  alone, 
caught  one  another  and  spun  round  in  pairs,  until  many  of 
them  dropped.  While  those  were  down,  the  rest  linked 
hand  in  hand,  and  all  spun  round  together :  then  the  ring 
broke,  and  in  separate  rings  of  two  and  four  they  turned 


330  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and  turned  until  they  all  stopped  at  once,  began  again, 
struck,  clutched,  and  tore,  and  then  reversed  the  spin,  and 
all  spun  round  another  way.  Suddenly  they  stopped  again, 
paused,  struck  out  the  time  afresh,  formed  into  lines  the 
width  of  the  public  way,  and,  with  their  heads  low  down 
and  their  hands  high  up,  swooped  screaming  off.  No  fight 
could  have  been  half  so  terrible  as  this  dance.  It  was  so 
emphatically  a  fallen  sport  —  a  something,  once  innocent, 
delivered  over  to  all  devilry  —  a  healthy  pastime  changed 
into  a  means  of  angering  the  blood,  bewildering  the  senses, 
and  steeling  the  heart.  Such  grace  as  was  visible  in  it, 
made  it  the  uglier,  showing  how  warped  and  perverted  all 
things  good  by  nature  were  become.  The  maidenly  bosom 
bared  to  this,  the  pretty  almost-child's  head  thus  dis- 
tracted, the  delicate  foot  mincing  in  this  slough  of  blood 
and  dirt,  were  types  of  the  disjointed  time. 

This  was  the  Carmagnole.  As  it  passed,  leaving  Lucie 
frightened  and  bewildered  in  the  doorway  of  the  wood- 
sawyer's  house,  the  feathery  snow  fell  as  quietly  and  lay 
as  white  and  soft,  as  if  it  had  never  been. 

"  0  my  father !  "  for  he  stood  before  her  when  she  lifted 
up  the  eyes  she  had  momentarily  darkened  with  her  hand, 
"such  a  cruel,  bad  sight." 

"I  know,  my  dear,  I  know.  I  have  seen  it  many 
times.  Don't  be  frightened!  Not  one  of  them  would 
harm  you." 

"I  am  not  frightened  for  myself,  my  father.  But 
when  I  think  of  my  husband,  and  the  mercies  of  these 
people " 

"  We  will  set  him  above  their  mercies,  very  soon.  I  left 
him  climbing  to  the  window,  and  I  came  to  tell  you.  There 
is  no  one  here  to  see.  You  may  kiss  your  hand  towards 
that  highest  shelving  roof." 

"I  do  so,  father,  and  I  send  him  my  Soul  with  it! " 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  331 

"You  cannot  see  him,  my  poor  dear?" 

"No,  father,"  said  Lucie,  yearning  and  weeping  as  she 
kissed  her  hand,  "no." 

A  footstep  in  the  snow.  Madame  Defarge.  "I  salute 
you,  citizeness,"  from  the  Doctor.  "I  salute  you,  citizen." 
This  in  passing.  Nothing  more.  Madame  Defarge  gone, 
like  a  shadow  over  the  white  road. 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  my  love.  Pass  from  here  with  an 
air  of  cheerfulness  and  courage,  for  his  sake.  That  was 
well  done ; "  they  had  left  the  spot ;  "  it  shall  not  be  in 
vain.     Charles  is  summoned  for  to-morrow." 

"  For  to-morrow !  " 

"There  is  no  time  to  lose.  I  am  well  prepared,  but 
there  are  precautions  to  be  taken,  that  could  not  be  taken 
until  he  was  actually  summoned  before  the  Tribunal.  He 
has  not  received  the  notice  yet,  but  I  know  that  he  will 
presently  be  summoned  for  to-morrow,  and  removed  to  the 
Conciergerie ;  I  have  timely  information.  You  are  not 
afraid?" 

She  could  scarcely  answer,  "I  trust  in  you." 

"Do  so,  implicitly.  Your  suspense  is  nearly  ended,  my 
darling;  he  shall  be  restored  to  you  within  a  few  hours;  I 
have  encompassed  him  with  every  protection.  I  must  see 
Lorry." 

He  stopped.  There  was  a  heavy  lumbering  of  wheels 
within  hearing.  They  both  knew  too  well  what  it  meant. 
One.  Two.  Three.  Three  tumbrils  faring  away  with 
their,  dread  loads  over  the  hushing  snow. 

"I  must  see  Lorry,"  the  Doctor  repeated,  turning  her 
another  way. 

The  staunch  old  gentleman  was  still  in  his  trust;  had 
never  left  it.  He  and  his  books  were  in  frequent  requisi- 
tion as  to  property  confiscated  and  made  national.  What 
he  could  save  for  the  owners,  he  saved.     No  better  man 


332  A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES. 

living  to  hold  fast,  by  what  Tellson's  had  in  keeping,  and 
to  hold  his  peace. 

A  murky  red  and  yellow  sky,  and  a  rising  mist  from  the 
Seine,  denoted  the  approach  of  darkness.  It  was  almost 
dark  when  they  arrived  at  the  Bank.  The  stately  resi- 
dence of  Monseigneur  was  altogether  blighted  and  deserted. 
Above  a  heap  of  dust  and  ashes  in  the  court,  ran  the 
letters:  National  Property.  Republic  One  and  Indivisible. 
Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,  or  Death. 

Who  could  that  be  with  Mr.  Lorry  —  the  owner  of  the 
riding-coat  upon  the  chair  —  who  must  not  be  seen?  From 
whom  newly  arrived,  did  he  come  out,  agitated  and  sur- 
prised, to  take  his  favourite  in  his  arms?  To  whom  did 
he  appear  to  repeat  her  faltering  words,  when,  raising  his 
voice  and  turning  his  head  towards  the  door  of  the  room 
from  which  he  had  issued,  he  said :  "  Removed  to  the  Con- 
ciergerie,  and  summoned  for  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TRIUMPH. 


The  dread  Tribunal  of  five  Judges,  Public  Prosecutor, 
and  determined  Jury,  sat  every  day.  Their  lists  went  forth 
every  evening,  and  were  read  out  by  the  gaolers  of  the  vari- 
ous prisons  to  their  prisoners.  The  standard  gaoler-joke 
was,  "Come  out  and  listen  to  the  Evening  Paper,  you 
inside  there ! " 

"  Charles  Evremonde,  called  Darnay !  " 

So,  at  last,  began  the  Evening  Paper  at  La  Force. 

When  a  name  was  called,  its  owner  stepped  apart  into 
a  spot  reserved  for  those  who  were  announced  as  being 
thus  fatally  recorded.     Charles  Evremonde,  called  Darnay, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  333 

had  reason  to  know  the  usage ;  he  had  seen  hundreds  pass 
away  so. 

His  bloated  gaoler,  who  wore  spectacles  to  read  with, 
glanced  over  them  to  assure  himself  that  he  had  taken  his 
place,  and  went  through  the  list,  making  a  similar  short 
pause  at  each  name.  There  were  twenty-three  names,  but 
only  twenty  were  responded  to;  for,  one  of  the  prisoners 
so  summoned  had  died  in  gaol  and  been  forgotten,  and  two 
had  been  already  guillotined  and  forgotten.  The  list  was 
read,  in  the  vaulted  chamber  where  Darnay  had  seen  the 
associated  prisoners  on  the  night  of  his  arrival.  Every 
one  of  those  had  perished  in  the  massacre;  every  human 
creature  he  had  since  cared  for  and  parted  with,  had  died 
on  the  scaffold. 

There  were  hurried  words  of  farewell  and  kindness,  but 
the  parting  was  soon  over.  It  was  the  incident  of  every 
day,  and  the  society  of  La  Force  were  engaged  in  the 
preparation  of  some  games  of  forfeits  and  a  little  concert, 
for  that  evening.  They  crowded  to  the  grates  and  shed 
tears  there;  but,  twenty  places  in  the  projected  entertain- 
ments had  to  be  refilled,  and  the  time  was,  at  best,  short 
to  the  lock-up  hour,  when  the  common  rooms  and  corridors 
would  be  delivered  over  to  the  great  dogs  who  kept  watch 
there  through  the  night.  The  prisoners  were  far  from 
insensible  or  unfeeling;  their  ways  arose  out  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  time.  Similarly,  though  with  a  subtle  differ- 
ence, a  species  of  fervour  or  intoxication,  known,  without 
doubt,  to  have  led  some  persons  to  brave  the  guillotine 
unnecessarily,  and  to  die  by  it,  was  not  mere  boastfulness, 
but  a  wild  infection  of  the  wildly  shaken  public  mind.  In 
seasons  of  pestilence,  some  of  us  will  have  a  secret  attrac- 
tion to  the  disease  —  a  terrible  passing  inclination  to  die  of 
it.  And  all  of  us  have  like  wonders  hidden  in  our  breasts, 
only  needing  circumstances  to  evoke  them. 


334  A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES. 

The  passage  to  the  Conciergerie  was  short  and  dark;  the 
night  in  its  vermin-haunted  cells  was  long  and  cold.  Next 
day,  fifteen  prisoners  were  put  to  the  bar  before  Charles 
Darnay's  name  was  called.  All  the  fifteen  were  con- 
demned, and  the  trials  of  the  whole  occupied  an  hour 
and  a  half. 

"Charles  Evremonde,  called  Darnay,"  was  at  length 
arraigned. 

His  Judges  sat  upon  the  Bench  in  feathered  hats ;  but 
the  rough  red  cap  and  tricoloured  cockade  was  the  head- 
dress otherwise  prevailing.  Looking  at  the  Jury  and  the 
turbulent  audience,  he  might  have  thought  that  the  usual 
order  of  things  was  reversed,  and  that  the  felons  were  trying 
the  honest  men. '  The  lowest,  crudest,  and  worst  populace 
of  a  city,  never  without  its  quantity  of  low,  cruel,  and  bad, 
were  the  directing  spirits  of  the  scene :  noisily  comment- 
ing, applauding,  disapproving,  anticipating,  and  precipitat- 
ing the  result,  without  a  check.  Of  the  men,  the  greater 
part  were  armed  in  various  ways ;  of  the  women,  some  wore 
knives,  some  daggers,  some  ate  and  drank  as  they  looked 
on,  many  knitted.  Among  these  last,  was  one,  with  a  spare 
piece  of  knitting  under  her  arm  as  she  worked.  She  was 
in  a  front  row,  by  the  side  of  a  man  whom  he  had  never 
seen  since  his  arrival  at  the  Barrier,  but  whom  he  directly 
remembered  as  Defarge.  He  noticed  that  she  once  or  twice 
whispered  in  his  ear,  and  that  she  seemed  to  be  his  wife ; 
but,  what  he  most  noticed  in  the  two  figures  was,  that 
although  they  were  posted  as  close  to  himself  as  they 
could  be,  they  never  looked  towards  him.  They  seemed 
to  be  waiting  for  something  with  a  dogged  determination, 
and  they  looked  at  the  Jury  but  at  nothing  else.  Under 
the  President  sat  Doctor  Manette,  in  his  usual  quiet  dress. 
As  well  as  the  prisoner  could  see,  he  and  Mr.  Lorry  were 
the  only  men  there,  unconnected  with  the  Tribunal,  who 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  335 

wore  their  usual  clothes,  and  had  not  assumed  the  coarse 
garb  of  the  Carmagnole. 

Charles  Evremonde,  called  Darnay,  was  accused  by  the 
public  prosecutor  as  an  emigrant,  whose  life  was  forfeit  to 
the  Republic,  under  the  decree  which  banished  all  emi- 
grants on  pain  of  Death.  It  was  nothing  that  the  decree 
bore  date  since  his  return  to  France.  There  he  was,  and 
there  was  the  decree;  he  had  been  taken  in  France,  and 
his  head  was  demanded. 

"Take  off  his  head!"  cried  the  audience.  "An  enemy 
to  the  Republic! " 

The  President  rang  his  bell  to  silence  those  cries,  and 
asked  the  prisoner  whether  it  was  not  true  that  he  had 
lived  many  years  in  England? 

Undoubtedly  it  was. 

Was  he  not  an  emigrant  then?  What  did  he  call 
himself? 

Not  an  emigrant,  he  hoped,  within  the  sense  and  spirit 
of  the  law. 

Why  not?  the  President  desired  to  know. 

Because  he  had  voluntarily  relinquished  a  title  that  was 
distasteful  to  him,  and  a  station  that  was  distasteful  to 
him,  and  had  left  his  country  —  he  submitted  before  the 
word  emigrant  in  the  present  acceptation  by  the  Tribunal 
was  in  use  —  to  live  by  his  own  industry  in  England,  rather 
than  of  the  industry  of  the  overladen  people  of  France. 

What  proof  had  he  of  this? 

He  handed  in  the  names  of  two  witnesses:  Theophile 
Gabelle,  and  Alexandre  Manette. 

But  he  had  married  in  England?  the  President  reminded 
him. 

True,  but  not  an  English  woman. 

A  citizeness  of  France? 

Yes.     By  birth. 


386  A  TALE  OF   TWO  CITIES. 

Her  name  and  family? 

"Lucie  Manette,  only  daughter  of  Doctor  Manette,  the 
good  physician  who  sits  there." 

This  answer  had  a  happy  effect  upon  the  audience.  Cries 
in  exaltation  of  the  well-known  good  physician  rent  the 
hall.  So  capriciously  were  the  people  moved,  that  tears 
immediately  rolled  down  several  ferocious  countenances 
which  had  been  glaring  at  the  prisoner  a  moment  before,  as 
if  with  impatience  to  pluck  him  out  into  the  street  and 
kill  him. 

On  these  few  steps  of  his  dangerous  way,  Charles  Darnay 
had  set  his  foot  according  to  Doctor  Manette's  reiterated 
instructions.  The  same  cautious  counsel  directed  every 
step  that  lay  before  him,  and  had  prepared  every  inch  of 
his  road. 

The  President  asked  why  had  he  returned  to  France  when 
he  did,  and  not  sooner? 

He  had  not  returned  sooner,  he  replied,  simply  because 
he  had  no  means  of  living  in  France,  save  those  he  had 
resigned ;  whereas,  in  England,  he  lived  by  giving  instruc- 
tion in  the  French  language  and  literature.  He  had  returned 
when  he  did,  on  the  pressing  and  written  entreaty  of  a 
French  citizen,  who  represented  that  his  life  was  endangered 
by  his  absence.  He  had  come  back,  to  save  a  citizen's  life, 
and  to  bear  his  testimony,  at  whatever  personal  hazard,  to 
the  truth.     Was  that  criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  Kepublic? 

The  populace  cried  enthusiastically,  "  No !  "  and  the  Presi- 
dent rang  his  bell  to  quiet  them.  Which  it  did  not,  for 
they  continued  to  cry  "No!"  until  they  left  off,  of  their 
own  will. 

The  President  required  the  name  of  that  Citizen?  The 
accused  explained  that  the  citizen  was  his  first  witness. 
He  also  referred  with  confidence  to  the  citizen's  letter, 
which  had  been  taken  from  him  at  the  Barrier,  but  which 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  337 

he  did  not  doubt  would  be  found  among  the  papers  then 
before  the  President. 

The  Doctor  had  taken  care  that  it  should  be  there  —  had 
assured  him  that  it  would  be  there  —  and  at  this  stage  of 
the  proceedings  it  was  produced  and  read.  Citizen  Gabelle 
was  called  to  confirm  it,  and  did  so.  Citizen  Gabelle 
hinted,  with  infinite  delicacy  and  politeness,  that  in  the 
pressure  of  business  imposed  on  the  Tribunal  by  the  multi- 
tude of  enemies  of  the  Eepublic  with  which  it  had  to  deal, 
he  had  been  slightly  overlooked  in  his  prison  of  the  Abbaye 
—  in  fact,  had  rather  passed  out  of  the  Tribunal's  patriotic 
remembrance  —  until  three  days  ago;  when  he  had  been 
summoned  before  it,  and  had  been  set  at  liberty  on  the 
Jury's  declaring  themselves  satisfied  that  the  accusation 
against  him  was  answered,  as  to  himself,  by  the  surrender 
of  the  citizen  Evremonde,  called  Darnay. 

Doctor  Manette  was  next  questioned.  His  high  personal 
popularity,  and  the  clearness  of  his  answers,  made  a  great 
impression;  but,  as  he  proceeded,  as  he  showed  that  the 
Accused  was  his  first  friend  on  his  release  from  his  long 
imprisonment ;  that,  the  accused  had  remained  in  England, 
always  faithful  and  devoted  to  his  daughter  and  himself  in 
their  exile ;  that,  so  far  from  being  in  favour  with  the  Aris- 
tocrat government  there,  he  had  actually  been  tried  for  his 
life  by  it,  as  the  foe  of  England  and  friend  of  the  United 
States  —  as  he  brought  these  circumstances  into  view,  with 
the  greatest  discretion  and  with  the  straightforward  force 
of  truth  and  earnestness,  the  Jury  and  the  populace  became 
one.  At  last,  when  he  appealed  by  name  to  Monsieur  Lorry, 
an  English  gentleman  then  and  there  present,  who,  like 
himself,  had  been  a  witness  on  that  English  trial  and  could 
corroborate  his  account  of  it,  the  Jury  declared  that  they 
had  heard  enough,  and  that  they  were  ready  with  their  votes 
if  the  President  were  content  to  receive  them. 

z 


338  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

At  every  vote  (the  Jurymen  voted  aloud  and  individually), 
the  populace  set  up  a  shout  of  applause.  All  the  voices 
were  in  the  prisoner's  favour,  and  the  President  declared 
him  free. 

Then,  began  one  of  those  extraordinary  scenes  with  which 
the  populace  sometimes  gratified  their  fickleness,  or  their 
better  impulses  towards  generosity  and  mercy,  or  which 
they  regarded  as  some  set-off  against  their  swollen  account 
of  cruel  rage.  No  man  can  decide  now  to  which  of  these 
motives  such  extraordinary  scenes  were  referable;  it  is 
probable,  to  a  blending  of  all  the  three,  with  the  second 
predominating.  No  sooner  was  the  acquittal  pronounced, 
than  tears  were  shed  as  freely  as  blood  at  another  time,  and 
such  fraternal  embraces  were  bestowed  upon  the  prisoner  by 
as  many  of  both  sexes  as  could  rush  at  him,  that  after  his 
long  and  unwholesome  confinement  he  was  in  danger  of 
fainting  from  exhaustion;  none  the  less  because  he  knew 
very  well,  that  the  very  same  people,  carried  by  another 
current,  would  have  rushed  at  him  with  the  very  same 
intensity,  to  rend  him  to  pieces  and  strew  him  over  the 
streets. 

His  removal,  to  make  way  for  other  accused  persons  who 
were  to  be  tried,  rescued  him  from  these  caresses  for  the 
moment.  Five  were  to  be  tried  together,  next,  as  enemies 
of  the  Republic,  forasmuch  as  they  had  not  assisted  it  by 
word  or  deed.  So  quick  was  the  Tribunal  to  compensate 
itself  and  the  nation  for  a  chance  lost,  that  these  five  came 
down  to  him  before  he  left  the  place,  condemned  to  die 
within  twenty -four  hours.  The  first  of  them  told  him  so, 
with  the  customary  prison  sign  of  Death  —  a  raised  finger 
—  and  they  all  added  in  words,  "  Long  live  the  Republic !  " 

The  five  had  had,  it  is  true,  no  audience  to  lengthen  their 
proceedings,  for  when  he  and  Doctor  Manette  emerged  from 
the  gate,  there  was  a  great  crowd  about  it,  in  which  there 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  339 

seemed  to  be  every  face  he  had  seen  in  Court  —  except  two, 
for  which  he  looked  in  vain.  On  his  coming  out,  the  con- 
course made  at  him  anew,  weeping,  embracing,  and  shout- 
ing, all  by  turns  and  all  together,  until  the  very  tide  of  the 
river  on  the  bank  of  which  the  mad  scene  was  acted,  seemed 
to  run  mad,  like  the  people  on  the  shore. 

They  put  him  into  a  great  chair  they  had  among  them, 
and  which  they  had  taken  either  out  of  the  Court  itself,  or 
one  of  its  rooms  or  passages.  Over  the  chair  they  had 
thrown  a  red  flag,  and  to  the  back  of  it  they  had  bound  a 
pike  with  a  red  cap  on  its  top.  In  this  car  of  triumph, 
not  even  the  Doctor's  entreaties  could  prevent  his  being 
carried  to  his  home  on  men's  shoulders,  with  a  confused 
sea  of  red  caps  heaving  about  him,  and  casting  up  to  sight 
from  the  stormy  deep  such  wrecks  of  faces,  that  he  more 
than  once  misdoubted  his  mind  being  in  confusion,  and 
that  he  was  in  the  tumbril  on  his  way  to  the  Guillotine. 

In  wild  dreamlike  procession,  embracing  whom  they  met 
and  pointing'  him  out,  they  carried  him  on.  Eeddening 
the  snowy  streets  with  the  prevailing  Kepublican  colour, 
in  winding  and  tramping  through  them,  as  they  had  red- 
dened them  below  the  snow  with  a  deeper  dye,  they  carried 
him  thus  into  the  court-yard  of  the  building  where  he  lived. 
Her  father  had  gone  on  before,  to  prepare  her,  and  when 
her  husband  stood  upon  his  feet,  she  dropped  insensible  in 
his  arms. 

As  he  held  her  to  his  heart  and  turned  her  beautiful 
head  between  his  face  and  the  brawling  crowd,  so  that  his 
tears  and  her  lips  might  come  together  unseen,  a  few  of  the 
people  fell  to  dancing.  Instantly,  all  the  rest  fell  to  danc- 
ing, and  the  court-yard  overflowed  with  the  Carmagnole. 
Then,  they  elevated  into  the  vacant  chair  a  young  woman 
from  the  crowd  to  be  carried  as  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  and 
then,  swelling  and  overflowing  out  into  the  adjacent  streets, 


340  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and  along  the  river's  bank,  and  over  the  bridge,  the  Car- 
magnole absorbed  them  every  one  and  whirled  them  away. 

After  grasping  the  Doctor's  hand,  as  he  stood  victorious 
and  proud  before  him;  after  grasping  the  hand  of  Mr. 
Lorry,  who  came  panting  in  breathless  from  his  struggle 
against  the  waterspout  of  the  Carmagnole;  after  kissing 
little  Lucie,  who  was  lifted  up  to  clasp  her  arms  round  his 
neck;  and  after  embracing  the  ever  zealous  and  faithful 
Pross  who  lifted  her;  he  took  his  wife  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  up  to  their  rooms. 

"Lucie!     My  own!     I  am  safe." 

aO  dearest  Charles,  let  me  thank  God  for  this  on  my 
knees  as  I  have  prayed  to  Him." 

They  all  reverently  bowed  their  heads  and  hearts.  When 
she  was  again  in  his  arms,  he  said  to  her : 

"And  now  speak  to  your  father,  dearest.  No  other  man 
in  all  this  France  could  have  done  what  he  has  done 
for  me." 

She  laid  her  head  upon  her  father's  breast  as  she  had 
laid  his  poor  head  on  her  own  breast,  long,  long  ago.  He 
was  happy  in  the  return  he  had  made  her,  he  was  recom- 
pensed for  his  suffering,  he  was  proud  of  his  strength. 
"You  must  not  be  weak,  my  darling,"  he  remonstrated; 
"don't  tremble  so.     I  have  saved  him." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    KNOCK    AT    THE    DOOR. 


"I  have  saved  him."  It  was  not  another  of  the  dreams 
in  which  he  had  often  come  back;  he  was  really  here.  And 
yet  his  wife  trembled,  and  a  vague  but  heavy  fear  was 
upon  her. 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  341 

All  the  air  around  was  so  thick  and  dark,  the  people 
were  so  passionately  revengeful  and  fitful,  the  innocent  were 
so  constantly  put  to  death  on  vague  suspicion  and  black 
malice,  it  was  so  impossible  to  forget  that  many  as  blame- 
less as  her  husband  and  as  dear  to  others  as  he  was  to  her, 
every  day  shared  the  fate  from  which  he  had  been  clutched, 
that  her  heart  could  not  be  as  lightened  of  its  load  as  she 
felt  it  ought  to  be.  The  shadows  of  the  wintry  afternoon 
were  beginning  to  fall,  and  even  now  the  dreadful  carts 
were  rolling  through  the  streets.  Her  mind  pursued  them, 
looking  for  him  among  the  Condemned ;  and  then  she  clung 
closer  to  his  real  presence  and  trembled  more. 

Her  father,  cheering  her,  showed  a  compassionate  supe- 
riority to  this  woman's  weakness,  which  was  wonderful  to 
see.  No  garret,  no  shoemaking,  no  One  Hundred  and  Five, 
North  Tower,  now!  He  had  accomplished  the  task  he  had 
set  himself,  his  promise  was  redeemed,  he  had  saved 
Charles.     Let  them  all  lean  upon  him. 

Their  housekeeping  was  of  a  very  frugal  kind :  not  only 
because  that  was  the  safest  way  of  life,  involving  the 
least  offence  to  the  people,  but  because  they  were  not  rich, 
and  Charles,  throughout  his  imprisonment,  had  had  to  pay 
heavily  for  his  bad  food,  and  for  his  guard,  and  towards 
the  living  of  the  poorer  prisoners.  Partly  on  this  account, 
and  partly  to  avoid  a  domestic  spy,  they  kept  no  servant; 
the  citizen  and  citizeness  who  acted  as  porters  at  the  court- 
yard gate,  rendered  them  occasional  service;  and  Jerry 
(almost  wholly  transferred  to  them  by  Mr.  Lorry)  had  be- 
come their  daily  retainer,  and  had  his  bed  there  every  night. 

It  was  an  ordinance  of  the  Republic  One  and  Indivisi- 
ble of  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,  or  Death,  that  on  the 
door  or  doorpost  of  every  house,  the  name  of  every  inmate 
must  be  legibly  inscribed  in  letters  of  a  certain  size,  at 
a  certain  convenient  height  from  the  ground.     Mr.  Jerry 


342  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Cruncher's  name,  therefore,  duly  embellished  the  doorpost 
down  below;  and,  as  the  afternoon  shadows  deepened,  the 
owner  of  that  name  himself  appeared,  from  overlooking  a 
painter  whom  Doctor  Manette  had  employed  to  add  to  the 
list  the  name  of  Charles  Evr6monde,  called  Darnay. 

In  the  universal  fear  and  distrust  that  darkened  the 
time,  all  the  usual  harmless  ways  of  life  were  changed.  In 
the  Doctor's  little  household,  as  in  very  many  others,  the 
articles  of  daily  consumption  that  were  wanted,  were  pur- 
chased every  evening,  in  small  quantities  and  at  various 
small  shops.  To  avoid  attracting  notice,  and  to  give  as 
little  occasion  as  possible  for  talk  and  envy,  was  the  gen- 
eral desire. 

For  some  months  past,  Miss  Pross  and  Mr.  Cruncher  had 
discharged  the  office  of  purveyors;  the  former  carrying 
the  money;  the  latter,  the  basket.  Every  afternoon  at 
about  the  time  when  the  public  lamps  were  lighted,  they 
fared  forth  on  this  duty,  and  made  and  brought  home  such 
purchases  as  were  needful.  Although  Miss  Pross,  through 
her  long  association  with  a  French  family,  might  have 
known  as  much  of  their  language  as  of  her  own,  if  she  had 
had  a  mind,  she  had  no  mind  in  that  direction;  conse- 
quently she  knew  no  more  of  "  that  nonsense  "  (as  she  was 
pleased  to  call  it),  than  Mr.  Cruncher  did.  So  her  man- 
ner of  marketing  was  to  plump  a  noun-substantive  at  the 
head  of  a  shopkeeper  without  any  introduction  in  the 
nature  of  an  article,  and,  if  it  happened  not  to  be  the  name 
of  the  thing  she  wanted,  to  look  round  for  that  thing,  lay 
hold  of  it,  and  hold  on  by  it  until  the  bargain  was  con- 
cluded. She  always  made  a  bargain  for  it,  by  holding  up, 
as  a  statement  of  its  just  price,  one  finger  less  than  the 
merchant  held  up,  whatever  his  number  might  be. 

"Now,  Mr.  Cruncher,"  said  Miss  Pross,  whose  eyes  were 
red  with  felicity;  "if  you  are  ready,  1  am." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  343 

Jerry  hoarsely  professed  himself  at  Miss  Pross's  service. 
He  had  worn  all  his  rust  off  long  ago,  but  nothing  would 
file  his  spiky  head  down. 

"There's  all  manner  of  things  wanted,"  said  Miss  Pross, 
"and  we  shall  have  a  precious  time  of  it.  We  want  wine, 
among  the  rest.  Nice  toasts  these  Bedheads  will  be  drink- 
ing, wherever  we  buy  it." 

"  It  will  be  much  the  same  to  your  knowledge,  miss,  I 
should  think,"  retorted  Jerry,  "whether  they  drink  your 
health  or  the  Old  Un's." 

"Who's  he?"  said  Miss  Pross. 

Mr.  Cruncher,  with  some  diffidence,  explained  himself 
as  meaning  "Old  Nick's." 

"Ha!  "  said  Miss  Pross,  "it  doesn't  need  an  interpreter 
to  explain  the  meaning  of  these  creatures.  They  have  but 
one,  and  it's  Midnight  Murder,  and  Mischief." 

"Hush,  dear!     Pray,  pray,  be  cautious!"  cried  Lucie. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  I'll  be  cautious,"  said  Miss  Pross;  "but 
I  may  say  among  ourselves,  that  I  do  hope  there  will  be  no 
oniony  and  tobaccoey  smotherings  in  the  form  of  embrac- 
ings  all  round,  going  on  in  the  streets.  Now,  Ladybird, 
never  you  stir  from  that  fire  till  I  come  back.  Take  care 
of  the  dear  husband  you  have  recovered,  and  don't  move 
your  pretty  head  from  his  shoulder  as  you  have  it  now,  till 
you  see  me  again!  May  I  ask  a  question,  Doctor  Manette, 
before  I  go?" 

"I  think  you  may  take  that  liberty,"  the  Doctor  an- 
swered, smiling. 

"For  gracious  sake,  don't  talk  about  Liberty;  we  have 
quite  enough  of  that,"  said  Miss  Pross. 

"Hush,  dear!     Again?"  Lucie  remonstrated. 

"Well,  my  sweet,"  said  Miss  Pross,  nodding  her  head 
emphatically,  "the  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,  that  I  am 
a  subject  of  His  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King  George  the 


344  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Third ;  "  Miss  Pross  curtseyed  at  the  name ;  "  and  as  such, 
my  maxim  is,  Confound  their  politics,  Frustrate  their 
knavish  tricks,  On  him  our  hopes  we  fix,  God  save  the 
King!" 

Mr.  Cruncher,  in  an  access  of  loyalty,  growlingly  re- 
peated the  words  after  Miss  Pross,  like  somebody  at  church. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  so  much  of  the  Englishman  in  you, 
though  I  wish  you  had  never  taken  that  cold  in  your  voice," 
said  Miss  Pross,  approvingly.  "  But  the  question,  Doctor 
Manette.  Is  there  "  —  it  was  the  good  creature's  way  to 
affect  to  make  light  of  anything  that  was  a  great  anxiety 
with  them  all,  and  to  come  at  it  in  this  chance  manner  — 
"is  there  any  prospect  yet,  of  our  getting  out  of  this 
place?" 

"I  fear  not  yet.     It  would  be  dangerous  for  Charles  yet." 

"  Heigh-ho-hum !  "  said  Miss  Pross,  cheerfully  repressing 
a  sigh  as  she  glanced  at  her  darling's  golden  hair  in  the 
light  of  the  fire,  "then  we  must  have  patience  and  wait: 
that's  all.  We  must  hold  up  our  heads  and  fight  low,  as 
my  brother  Solomon  used  to  say.  Now,  Mr.  Cruncher !  — 
Don't  you  move,  Ladybird!  " 

They  went  out,  leaving  Lucie,  and  her  husband,  her 
father,  and  the  child,  by  a  bright  fire.  Mr.  Lorry  was 
expected  back  presently  from  the  Banking  House.  Miss 
Pross  had  lighted  the  lamp,  but  had  put  it  aside  in  a 
corner,  that  they  might  enjoy  the  firelight  undisturbed. 
Little  Lucie  sat  by  her  grandfather  with  her  hands  clasped 
through  his  arm;  and  he,  in  a  tone  not  rising  much  above  a 
whisper,  began  to  tell  her  a  story  of  a  great  and  powerful 
Fairy  who  had  opened  a  prison-wall  and  let  out  a  captive 
who  had  once  done  the  Fairy  a  service.  All  was  subdued 
and  quiet,  and  Lucie  was  more  at  ease  than  she  had  been. 

"  What  is  that !  "  she  cried,  all  at  once. 

"  My  dear ! "  said  her  father,  stopping  in  his  story,  and 


A   TALE   OF    TWO    CITIES.  345 

laying  his  hand  on  hers,  "command  yourself.  What  a 
disordered  state  you  are  in !  The  least  thing  —  nothing  — 
startles  you.      You,  your  father's  daughter?" 

"I  thought,  my  father,"  said  Lucie,  excusing  herself, 
with  a  pale  face  and  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  that  I  heard 
strange  feet  upon  the  stairs." 

"My  love,  the  staircase  is  as  still  as  Death." 

As  he  said  the  word,  a  blow  was  struck  upon  the  door. 

"0  father,  father.  What  can  this  be!  Hide  Charles. 
Save  him ! " 

"My  child,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  "I  have  saved  him.  What  weakness 
is  this,  my  dear!     Let  me  go  to  the  door." 

He  took  the  lamp  in  his  hand,  crossed  the  two  interven- 
ing outer  rooms,  and  opened  it.  A  rude  clattering  of  feet 
over  the  floors,  and  four  rough  men  in  red  caps,  armed  with 
sabres  and  pistols,  entered  the  room. 

"The  Citizen  Evremonde,  called  Darnay,"  said  the  first. 

"Who  seeks  him?"  answered  Darnay. 

"I  seek  him.  We  seek  him.  I  know  you,  Evremonde, 
I  saw  you  before  the  Tribunal  to-day.  You  are  again  the 
prisoner  of  the  Eepublic." 

The  four  surrounded  him,  where  he  stood  with  his  wife 
and  child  clinging  to  him. 

"Tell  me  how  and  why  am  I  again  a  prisoner?" 

"  It  is  enough  that  you  return  straight  to  the  Conciergerie, 
and  will  know  to-morrow.  You  are  summoned  for  to- 
morrow." 

Dr.  Manette,  whom  this  visitation  had  so  turned  into 
stone,  that  he  stood  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand,  as  if  he 
were  a  statue  made  to  hold  it,  moved  after  these  words  were 
spoken,  put  the  lamp  down,  and  confronting  the  speaker, 
and  taking  him,  not  ungently,  by  the  loose  front  of  his  red 
woollen  shirt,  said: 


346  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"You  know  him,  you  have  said.     Do  you  know  me?" 

"Yes,  I  know  you,  Citizen  Doctor." 

"We  all  know  you,  Citizen  Doctor,"  said  the  other  three. 

He  looked  abstractedly  from  one  to  another,  and  said,  in 
a  lower  voice,  after  a  pause : 

"Will  you  answer  his  question  to  me  then?  How  does 
this  happen?"        , 

"Citizen  Doctor,"  said  the  first,  reluctantly;  "he  has 
been  denounced  to  the  Section  of  Saint  Antoine.  This 
citizen,"  pointing  out  the  second  who  had  entered,  "is  from 
Saint  Antoine." 

The  citizen  here  indicated  nodded  his  head,  and  added : 

"He  is  accused  by  Saint  Antoine." 

"  Of  what?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"Citizen  Doctor,"  said  the  first,  with  his  former  reluc- 
tance, "  ask  no  more.  If  the  Republic  demands  sacrifices 
from  you,  without  doubt  you  as  a  good  patriot  will  be 
happy  to  make  them.  The  Republic  goes  before  all.  The 
People  is  supreme.     Evremonde,  we  are  pressed." 

"One  word,"  the  Doctor  entreated.  "Will  you  tell  me 
who  denounced  him?" 

"  It  is  against  rule, "  answered  the  first ;  "  but  you  can  ask 
Him  of  Saint  Antoine  here." 

The  Doctor  turned  his  eyes  upon  that  man.  Who  moved 
uneasily  on  his  feet,  rubbed  his  beard  a  little,  and  at  length 
said  : 

"Well!  Truly  it  is  against  rule.  But  he  is  denounced 
—  and  gravely  —  by  the  Citizen  and  Citizeness  Defarge. 
And  by  one  other." 

"What  other?" 

"Do  you  ask,  Citizen  Doctor?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,"  said  he  of  Saint  Antoine,  with  a  strange  look, 
"you  will  be  answered  to-morrow.     Now,  I  am  dumb!  " 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  347 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    HAND    AT    CARDS. 

Happily  unconscious  of  the  new  calamity  at  home,  Miss 
Pross  threaded  her  way  along  the  narrow  streets  and  crossed 
the  river  by  the  bridge  of  the  Pont-Neuf,  reckoning  in  her 
mind  the  number  of  indispensable  purchases  she  had  to 
make.  Mr.  Cruncher,  with  the  basket,  walked  at  her  side. 
They  both  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  into  most  of 
the  shops  they  passed,  had  a  wary  eye  for  all  gregarious 
assemblages  of  people,  and  turned  out  of  their  road  to  avoid 
any  very  excited  group  of  talkers.  It  was  a  raw  evening, 
and  the  misty  river,  blurred  to  the  eye  with  blazing  lights 
and  to  the  ear  with  harsh  noises,  showed  where  the  barges 
were  stationed  in  which  the  smiths  worked,  making  guns 
for  the  Army  of  the  Republic.  Woe  to  the  man  who  played 
tricks  with  that  Army,  or  got  undeserved  promotion  in  it ! 
Better  for  him  that  his  beard  had  never  grown,  for  the 
National  Razor  shaved  him  close. 

Having  purchased  a  few  small  articles  of  grocery,  and  a 
measure  of  oil  for  the  lamp,  Miss  Pross  bethought  herself 
of  the  wine  they  wanted.  After  peeping  into  several  wine- 
shops, she  stopped  at  the  sign  of  The  Good  Republican 
Brutus  of  Antiquity,  not  far  from  the  National  Palace,  once 
(and  twice)  the  Tuileries,  where  the  aspect  of  things  rather 
took  her  fancy.  It  had  a  quieter  look  than  any  other  place 
of  the  same  description  they  had  passed,  and,  though  red 
with  patriotic  caps,  was  not  so  red  as  the  rest.  Sounding 
Mr.  Cruncher  and  finding  him  of  her  opinion,  Miss  Pross 
resorted  to  the  Good  Republican  Brutus  of  Antiquity,  at- 
tended by  her  cavalier. 


348  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Slightly  observant  of  the  smoky  lights;  of  the  people, 
pipe  in  mouth,  playing  with  limp  cards  and  yellow  domi- 
noes; of  the  one  bare-breasted,  bare-armed,  soot-begrimed 
workman  reading  a  journal  aloud,  and  of  the  others  listen- 
ing to  him ;  of  the  weapons  worn,  or  laid  aside  to  be  re- 
sumed ;  of  the  two  or  three  customers  fallen  forward  asleep, 
who  in  the  popular,  high-shouldered  shaggy  black  spencer 
looked,  in  that  attitude,  like  slumbering  bears  or  dogs; 
the  two  outlandish  customers  approached  the  counter,  and 
showed  what  they  wanted. 

As  their  wine  was  measuring  out,  a  man  parted  from 
another  man  in  a  corner,  and  rose  to  depart.  In  going,  he 
had  to  face  Miss  Pross.  No  sooner  did  he  face  her,  than 
Miss  Pross  uttered  a  scream,  and  clapped  her  hands. 

In  a  moment,  the  whole  company  were  on  their  feet. 
That  somebody  was  assassinated  by  somebody  vindicating  a 
difference  of  opinion,  was  the  likeliest  occurrence.  Every- 
body looked  to  see  somebody  fall,  but  only  saw  a  man  and 
woman  standing  staring  at  each  other;  the  man  with  all 
the  outward  aspect  of  a  Frenchman  and  a  thorough  Repub- 
lican; the  woman,  evidently  English. 

What  was  said  in  this  disappointing  anti-climax,  by  the 
disciples  of  the  Good  Republican  Brutus  of  Antiquity, 
except  that  it  was  something  very  voluble  and  loud,  would 
have  been  as  so  much  Hebrew  or  Chaldean  to  Miss  Pross 
and  her  protector,  though  they  had  been  all  ears.  But, 
they  had  no  ears  for  anything  in  their  surprise.  For,  it 
must  be  recorded,  that  not  only  was  Miss  Pross  lost  in 
amazement  and  agitation ;  but,  Mr.  Cruncher  —  though  it 
seemed  on  his  own  separate  and  individual  account  —  was 
in  a  state  of  the  greatest  wonder. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  the  man  who  had  caused 
Miss  Pross  to  scream;  speaking  in  a  vexed  abrupt  voice 
(though  in  a  low  tone),  and  in  English. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  349 

"  Oh,  Solomon,  dear  Solomon ! "  cried  Miss  Pross,  clap- 
ping her  hands  again.  "  After  not  setting  eyes  upon  you 
or  hearing  of  you  for  so  long  a  time,  do  I  find  you  here !  " 

"  Don't  call  me  Solomon.  Do  you  want  to  be  the  death 
of  me?"  asked  the  man,  in  a  furtive  frightened  way. 

"Brother,  brother!"  cried  Miss  Pross,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  Have  I  ever  been  so  hard  with  you  that  you  ask 
me  such  a  cruel  question !  " 

"Then  hold  your  meddlesome  tongue,"  said  Solomon, 
"and  come  out,  if  you  want  to  speak  to  me.  Pay  for  your 
wine,  and  come  out.     Who's  this  man?" 

Miss  Pross,  shaking  her  loving  and  dejected  head  at  her 
by  no  means  affectionate  brother,  said,  through  her  tears, 
"Mr.  Cruncher." 

"Let  him  come  out  too,"  said  Solomon.  "Does  he  think 
me  a  ghost?" 

Apparently,  Mr.  Cruncher  did,  to  judge  from  his  looks. 
He  said  not  a  word,  however,  and  Miss  Pross,  exploring 
the  depths  of  her  reticule  through  her  tears  with  great  diffi- 
culty, paid  for  the  wine.  As  she  did  so,  Solomon  turned 
to  the  followers  of  the  Good  Republican  Brutus  of  Antiquity, 
and  offered  a  few  words  of  explanation  in  the  French  lan- 
guage, which  caused  them  all  to  relapse  into  their  former 
places  and  pursuits. 

"ISTow,"  said  Solomon,  stopping  at  the  dark  street 
corner,  "what  do  you  want?" 

"How  dreadfully  unkind  in  a  brother  nothing  has  ever 
turned  my  love  away  from !  "  cried  Miss  Pross,  "  to  give 
me  such  a  greeting,  and  show  me  no  affection." 

"There.  Con-found  it!  There,"  said  Solomon,  making 
a  dab  at  Miss  Pross's  lips  with  his  own.  "Now  are  you 
content?  " 

Miss  Pross  only  shook  her  head  and  wept  in  silence. 

"If  you  expect  me  to  be  surprised,"  said  her  brother 


350  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Solomon,  "  I  am  not  surprised.  I  knew  you  were  here ;  I 
know  of  most  people  who  are  here.  If  you  really  don't 
want  to  endanger  my  existence  —  which  I  half  believe  you 
do  —  go  your  ways  as  soon  as  possible,  and  let  me  go  mine. 
I  am  busy.     I  am  an  official." 

"My  English  brother  Solomon,"  mourned  Miss  Pross, 
casting  up  her  tear-fraught  eyes,  "  that  had  the  makings  in 
him  of  one  of  the  best  and  greatest  of  men  in  his  native 
country,  an  official  among  foreigners,  and  such  foreigners ! 
I  would  almost  sooner  have  seen  the  dear  boy  lying  ir 
his " 

"  I  said  so !  "  cried  her  brother,  interrupting.  "  I  knew 
it!  You  want  to  be  the  death  of  me.  I  shall  be  rendered 
Suspected,  by  my  own  sister.     Just  as  I  am  getting  on !  " 

"The  gracious  and  merciful  Heavens  forbid!"  cried 
Miss  Pross.  "Far  rather  would  I  never  see  you  again,  dear 
Solomon,  though  I  have  ever  loved  you  truly,  and  ever 
shall.  Say  but  one  affectionate  word  to  me,  and  tell  me 
there  is  nothing  angry  or  estranged  between  us,  and  I  will 
detain  you  no  longer." 

Good  Miss  Pross !  As  if  the  estrangement  between  them 
had  come  of  any  culpability  of  hers.  As  if  Mr.  Lorry  had 
not  known  it  for  a  fact,  years  ago,  in  the  quiet  corner  in 
Soho,  that  this  precious  brother  had  spent  her  money  and 
left  her! 

He  was  saying  the  affectionate  word,  however,  with  a 
far  more  grudging  condescension  and  patronage  than  he 
could  have  shown  if  their  relative  merits  and  positions  had 
been  reversed  (which  is  invariably  the  case,  all  the  world 
over),  when  Mr.  Cruncher,  touching  him  on  the  shoulder, 
hoarsely  and  unexpectedly  interposed  with  the  following 
singular  question: 

"I  say!  Might  I  ask  the  favour?  As  to  whether  your 
name  is  John  Solomon,  or  Solomon  John?" 


A  TALE  OF   TWO  CITIES.  351 

The  official  turned  towards  him  with  sudden  distrust. 
He  had  not  previously  uttered  a  word. 

"Come!"  said  Mr.  Cruncher.  "Speak  out,  you  know." 
(Which,  by  the  way,  was  more  than  he  could  do  himself.) 
"John  Solomon,  or  Solomon  John?  She  calls  you  Solo- 
mon, and  she  must  know,  being  your  sister.  And  I  know 
you're  John,  you  know.  Which  of  the  two  goes  first? 
And  regarding  that  name  of  Pross,  likewise.  That  warn't 
your  name  over  the  water." 
"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  all  I  mean,  for  I  can't  call  to  mind 
what  your  name  was,  over  the  water." 
"No?" 

"No.     But  I'll  swear  it  was  a  name  of  two  syllables." 
"Indeed?" 

"Yes.  T'other  one's  was  one  syllable.  I  know  you. 
You  was  a  spy-witness  at  the  Bailey.  What  in  the  name 
of  the  Father  of  Lies,  own  father  to  yourself,  was  you 
called  at  that  time?  " 

"Barsad,"  said  another  voice,  striking  in. 

"That's  the  name  for  a  thousand  pound!"  cried  Jerry. 

The  speaker  who  struck  in,  was  Sydney  Carton.     He  had 

his  hands  behind  him  under  the  skirts  of  his  riding-coat, 

and  he  stood  at  Mr.  Cruncher's  elbow  as  negligently  as  he 

might  have  stood  at  the  Old  Bailey  itself. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  Miss  Pross.  I  arrived  at 
Mr.  Lorry's,  to  his  surprise,  yesterday  evening;  we  agreed 
that  I  would  not  present  myself  elsewhere  until  all  was 
well,  or  unless  I  could  be  useful;  I  present  myself  here,  to 
beg  a  little  talk  with  your  brother.  I  wish  you  had  a  better 
employed  brother  than  Mr.  Barsad.  I  wish  for  your  sake 
Mr.  Barsad  was  not  a  Sheep  of  the  Prisons." 

Sheep  was  a  cant  word  of  the  time  for  a  spy,  under  the 
gaolers.  The  spy,  who  was  pale,  turned  paler,  and  asked 
him  how  he  dared 


352  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Sydney.  "I  lighted  on  you,  Mr. 
Barsad,  coming  out  of  the  prison  of  the  Conciergerie  while 
I  was  contemplating  the  walls,  an  hour  or  more  ago.  You 
have  a  face  to  be  remembered,  and  I  remember  faces  well. 
Made  curious  by  seeing  you  in  that  connexion,  and  having 
a  reason,  to  which  you  are  no  stranger,  for  associating  you 
with  the  misfortunes  of  a  friend  now  very  unfortunate,  I 
walked  in  your  direction.  I  walked  into  the  wine-shop 
here,  close  after  you,  and  sat  near  you.  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  deducing  from  your  unreserved  conversation,  and  the 
rumour  openly  going  about  among  your  admirers,  the  nature 
of  your  calling.  And  gradually,  what  I  had  done  at  ran- 
dom, seemed  to  shape  itself  into  a  purpose,  Mr.  Barsad." 

"What  purpose?"  the  spy  asked. 

"It  would  be  troublesome,  and  might  be  dangerous,  to 
explain  in  the  street.  Could  you  favour  me,  in  confidence, 
with  some  minutes  of  your  company  —  at  the  office  of  Tell- 
son's  Bank,  for  instance?" 

"Under  a  threat?" 

"Oh!     Did  I  say  that !  " 

"Then  why  should  I  go  there?" 

"Beally,  Mr.  Barsad,  I  can't  say,  if  you  can't." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  won't  say,  sir?"  the  spy  irreso- 
lutely asked. 

"You  apprehend  me  very  clearly,  Mr.  Barsad.     I  won't." 

Carton's  negligent  recklessness  of  manner  came  power- 
fully in  aid  of  his  quickness  and  skill,  in  such  a  business 
as  he  had  in  his  secret  mind,  and  with  such  a  man  as  he 
had  to  do  with.  His  practised  eye  saw  it,  and  made  the 
most  of  it. 

"  Now,  I  told  you  so, "  said  the  spy,  casting  a  reproachful 
look  at  his  sister;  "if  any  trouble  comes  of  this,  it's  your 
doing." 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Barsad!  "  exclaimed  Sydney.     "Don't 


A  TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  353 

be  ungrateful.  But  for  my  great  respect  for  your  sister,  I 
might  not  have  led  up  so  pleasantly  to  a  little  proposal  that 
I  wish  to  make  for  our  mutual  satisfaction.  Do  you  go 
with  me  to  the  Bank?" 

"  I'll  hear  what  you  have  got  to  say.  Yes,  I'll  go  with  you. " 

"  I  propose  that  we  first  conduct  your  sister  safely  to  the 
corner  of  her  own  street.  Let  me  take  your  arm,  Miss 
Pross.  This  is  not  a  good  city,  at  this  time,  for  you  to  be 
out  in,  unprotected;  and  as  your  escort  knows  Mr.  Barsad, 
I  will  invite  him  to  Mr.  Lorry's  with  us.  Are  we  ready? 
Come  then !  " 

Miss  Pross  recalled  soon  afterwards,  and  to  the  end  of 
her  life  remembered,  that  as  she  pressed  her  hands  on 
Sydney's  arm  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  imploring  him  to 
do  no  hurt  to  Solomon,  there  was  a  braced  purpose  in  the 
arm  and  a  kind  of  inspiration  in  the  eyes,  which  not  only 
contradicted  his  light  manner,  but  changed  and  raised  the 
man.  She  was  too  much  occupied  then,  with  fears  for 
the  brother  who  so  little  deserved  her  affection,  and  with 
Sydney's  friendly  reassurances,  adequately  to  heed  what 
she  observed. 

They  left  her  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  Carton  led 
the  way  to  Mr.  Lorry's,  which  was  within  a  few  minutes' 
walk.     John  Barsad,  or  Solomon  Pross,  walked  at  his  side. 

Mr.  Lorry  had  just  finished  his  dinner,  and  was  sitting 
before  a  cheery  little  log  or  two  of  fire  —  perhaps  looking 
into  their  blaze  for  the  picture  of  that  younger  elderly  gen- 
tleman from  Tellson's,  who  had  looked  into  the  red  coals  at 
the  Royal  George  at  Dover,  now  a  good  many  years  ago. 
He  turned  his  head  as  they  entered,  and  showed  the  sur- 
prise with  which  he  saw  a  stranger. 

"  Miss  Pross's  brother,  sir, "  said  Sydney.     "  Mr.  Barsad. " 

"Barsad?"  repeated  the  old  gentleman,  "Barsad?  I 
have  an  association  with  the  name  —  and  with  the  face." 

2  A 


354  A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES. 

"I  told  you  you  had  a  remarkable  face,  Mr.  Barsad," 
observed  Carton,  coolly.     "Pray  sit  down." 

As  lie  took  a  chair  himself,  he  supplied  the  link  that  Mr. 
Lorry  wanted,  by  saying  to  him  with  a  frown,  "  Witness  at 
that  trial."  Mr.  Lorry  immediately  remembered,  and  re- 
garded his  new  visitor  with  an  undisguised  look  of  abhor' 
rence. 

"  Mr.  Barsad  has  been  recognised  by  Miss  Pross  as  the 
affectionate  brother  you  have  heard  of,"  said  Sydney,  "and 
has  acknowledged  the  relationship.  I  pass  to  worse  news. 
Darnay  has  been  arrested  again." 

Struck  with  consternation,  the  old  gentleman  exclaimed, 
"What  do  you  tell  me!  I  left  him  safe  and  free  within 
these  two  hours,  and  am  about  to  return  to  him !  " 

"  Arrested  for  all  that.     When  was  it  done,  Mr.  Barsad?  " 

"Just  now,  if  at  all." 

"Mr.  Barsad  is  the  best  authority  possible,  sir,"  said 
Sydney,  "  and  I  have  it  from  Mr.  Barsad's  communication 
to  a  friend  and  brother  Sheep  over  a  bottle  of  wine,  that  the 
arrest  has  taken  place.  He  left  the  messengers  at  the  gate, 
and  saw  them  admitted  by  the  porter.  There  is  no  earthly 
doubt  that  he  is  retaken." 

Mr.  Lorry's  business  eye  read  in  the  speaker's  face  that 
it  was  loss  of  time  to  dwell  upon  the  point.  Confused, 
but  sensible  that  something  might  depend  on  his  presence 
of  mind,  he  commanded  himself,  and  was  silently  atten- 
tive. 

"Now,  I  trust,"  said  Sydney  to  him,  "that  the  name  and 
influence  of  Doctor  Manette  may  stand  him  in  as  good  stead 
to-morrow  —  you  said  he  would  be  before  the  Tribunal 
again  to-morrow,  Mr.  Barsad? " 

"Yes;  I  believe  so." 

"  —  In  as  good  stead  to-morrow  as  to-day.  But  it  may 
not  be   so.     I  own  to  you,   I  am  shaken,  Mr.  Lorry,  by 


A    TALE   OF    TWO    CITIES.  355 

Doctor  Manette's  not  having  had  the  power  to  prevent  this 
arrest." 

"He  may  not  have  known  of  it  beforehand,"  said  Mr. 
Lorry. 

"  But  that  very  circumstance  would  be  alarming,  when  we 
remember  how  identified  he  is  with  his  son-in-law." 

"  That's  true,"  Mr.  Lorry  acknowledged,  with  his  troubled 
hand  at  his  chin,  and  his  troubled  eyes  on  Carton. 

"In  short,"  said  Sydney,  "this  is  a  desperate  time,  when 
desperate  games  are  played  for  desperate  stakes.  Let  the 
Doctor  play  the  winning  game;  I  will  play  the  losing  one. 
No  man's  life  here  is  worth  purchase.  Any  one  carried 
home  by  the  people  to-day,  may  be  condemned  to-morrow. 
Now,  the  stake  I  have  resolved  to  play  for,  in  case  of  the 
worst,  is  a  friend  in  the  Conciergerie.  And  the  friend  I 
purpose  to  myself  to  win,  is  Mr.  Barsad." 

"You  need  have  good  cards,  sir,"  said  the  spy. 

"I'll  run  them  over.  I'll  see  what  I  hold.  — Mr.  Lorry, 
you  know  what  a  brute  I  am;  I  wish  you'd  give  me  a  little 
brandy." 

It  was  put  before  him,  and  he  drank  off  a  glassful  — 
drank  off  another  glassful  —  pushed  the  bottle  thoughtfully 
away. 

"  Mr.  Barsad, "  he  went  on,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  really 
was  looking  over  a  hand  at  cards :  "  Sheep  of  the  prisons, 
emissary  of  Republican  committees,  now  turnkey,  now 
prisoner,  always  spy  and  secret  informer,  so  much  the  more 
valuable  here  for  being  English  that  an  Englishman  is  less 
open  to  suspicion  of  subornation  in  those  characters  than 
a  Frenchman,  represents  himself  to  his  employers  under  a 
false  name.  That's  a  very  good  card.  Mr.  Barsad,  now  in 
the  employ  of  the  republican  French  government,  was 
formerly  in  the  employ  of  the  aristocratic  English  govern- 
ment, the  enemy  of  France  and  freedom.     That's  an  excel- 


356  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

lent  card.  Inference  clear  as  day  in  this  region  of  suspicion, 
that  Mr.  Barsad,  still  in  the  pay  of  the  aristocratic  English 
government,  is  the  spy  of  Pitt,  the  treacherous  foe  of  the 
Republic  crouching  in  its  bosom,  the  English  traitor  and 
agent  of  all  mischief  so  much  spoken  of  and  so  difficult  to 
find.  That's  a  card  not  to  be  beaten.  Have  you  followed 
my  hand,  Mr.  Barsad?" 

"  Not  to  understand  your  play, "  returned  the  spy,  some- 
what uneasily. 

"I  play  my  Ace,  Denunciation  of  Mr.  Barsad  to  the 
nearest  Section  Committee.  Look  over  your  hand,  Mr. 
Barsad,  and  see  what  you  have.     Don't  hurry." 

He  drew  the  bottle  near,  poured  out  another  glassful  of 
brandy,  and  drank  it  off.  He  saw  that  the  spy  was  fearful 
of  his  drinking  himself  into  a  fit  state  for  the  immediate 
denunciation  of  him.  Seeing  it,  he  poured  out  and  drank 
another  glassful. 

"  Look  over  your  hand  carefully,  Mr.  Barsad.    Take  time. " 

It  was  a  poorer  hand  than  he  suspected.  Mr.  Barsad  saw 
losing  cards  in  it  that  Sydney  Carton  knew  nothing  of. 
Thrown  out  of  his  honourable  employment  in  England, 
through  too  much  unsuccessful  hard  swearing  there  —  not 
because  he  was  not  wanted  there  j  our  English  reasons  for 
vaunting  our  superiority  to  secrecy  and  spies  are  of  very 
modern  date  —  he  knew  that  he  had  crossed  the  Channel, 
and  accepted  service  in  France :  first,  as  a  tempter  and  an 
eavesdropper  among  his  own  countrymen  there :  gradually, 
as  a  tempter  and  an  eavesdropper  among  the  natives.  He 
knew  that  under  the  overthrown  government  he  had  been 
a  spy  upon  Saint  Antoine  and  Defarge's  wine-shop;  had 
received  from  the  watchful  police  such  heads  of  informa- 
tion concerning  Doctor  Manette's  imprisonment,  release, 
and  history,  as  should  serve  him  for  an  introduction  to 
familiar  conversation  with  the  Def arges ;  and  tried  them  on 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  357 

Madame  Defarge,  and  had  broken  down  with  them  signally. 
He  always  remembered  with  fear  and  trembling,  that  that 
terrible  woman  had  knitted  when  he  talked  with  her,  and 
had  looked  ominously  at  him  as  her  fingers  moved.  He 
had  since  seen  her,  in  the  Section  of  Saint  Antoine,  over 
and  over  again  produce  her  knitted  registers,  and  denounce 
people  whose  lives  the  guillotine  then  surely  swallowed  up. 
He  knew,  as  every  one  employed  as  he  was,  did,  that  he  was 
never  safe;  that  flight  was  impossible;  that  he  was  tied 
fast  under  the  shadow  of  the  axe;  and  that  in  spite  of  his 
utmost  tergiversation  and  treachery  in  furtherance  of  the 
reigning  terror,  a  word  might  bring  it  down  upon  him. 
Once  denounced,  and  on  such  grave  grounds  as  had  just 
now  been  suggested  to  his  mind,  he  foresaw  that  the  dread- 
ful woman  of  whose  unrelenting  character  he  had  seen 
many  proofs,  would  produce  against  him  that  fatal  register, 
and  would  quash  his  last  chance  of  life.  Besides  that  all 
secret  men  are  men  soon  terrified,  here  were  surely  cards 
enough  of  one  black  suit,  to  justify  the  holder  in  growing 
rather  livid  as  he  turned  them  over. 

"You  scarcely  seem  to  like  your  hand,"  said  Sydney,  with 
the  greatest  composure.     "Do  you  play?" 

"I  think,  sir,"  said  the  spy,  in  the  meanest  manner,  as 
he  turned  to  Mr.  Lorry,  "  I  may  appeal  to  a  gentleman  of 
your  years  and  benevolence,  to  put  it  to  this  other  gentle- 
man, so  much  your  junior,  whether  he  can  under  any  cir- 
cumstances reconcile  it  to  his  station  to  play  that  Ace  of 
which  he  has  spoken.  I  admit  that  I  am  a  spy,  and  that  it 
is  considered  a  discreditable  station  —  though  it  must  be 
filled  by  somebody ;  but  this  gentleman  is  no  spy,  and  why 
should  he  so  demean  himself  as  to  make  himself  one?  " 

"I  play  my  Ace,  Mr.  Barsad,"  said  Carton,  taking  the 
answer  on  himself,  and  looking  at  his  watch,  "  without  any 
scruple,  in  a  very  few  minutes." 


358  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"I  should  have  hoped,  gentlemen  both,"  said  the  spy, 
always  striving  to  hook  Mr.  Lorry  into  the  discussion,  "  that 
your  respect  for  my  sister " 

"I  could  not  better  testify  my  respect  for  your  sister 
than  by  finally  relieving  her  of  her  brother,"  said  Sydney 
Carton. 

"You  think  not,  sir?" 

"I  have  thoroughly  made  up  my  mind  about  it." 

The  smooth  manner  of  the  spy,  curiously  in  dissonance 
with  his  ostentatiously  rough  dress,  and  probably  with  his 
usual  demeanour,  received  such  a  check  from  the  inscruta- 
bility of  Carton, —  who  was  a  mystery  to  wiser  and  honester 
men  than  he,  —  that  it  faltered  here  and  failed  him.  While 
he  was  at  a  loss,  Carton  said,  resuming  his  former  air  of 
contemplating  cards : 

"And  indeed,  now  I  think  again,  I  have  a  strong  impres- 
sion that  I  have  another  good  card  here,  not  yet  enumer- 
ated. That  friend  and  fellow-Sheep,  who  spoke  of  himself 
as  pasturing  in  the  country  prisons;  who  was  he?" 

"French.     You  don't  know  him,"  said  the  spy,  quickly. 

"French,  eh?"  repeated  Carton,  musing,  and  not  appear- 
ing to  notice  him  at  all,  though  he  echoed  his  word.  "  Well 
he  may  be." 

"Is,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  spy;  "though  it's  not  impor- 
tant." 

"Though  it's  not  important,"  repeated  Carton,  in  the 

same   mechanical  way  —  "though  it's  not  important 

No,  it's  not  important.     No.     Yet  I  know  the  face." 

"I  think  not.     I  am  sure  not.     It  can't  be,"  said  the  spy. 

"It  —  can't  —  be,"  muttered  Sydney  Carton,  retrospec- 
tively, and  filling  his  glass  (which  fortunately  was  a  small 
one)  again.  "Can't  —  be.  Spoke  good  French.  Yet  like 
a  foreigner,  I  thought?  " 

"Provincial,"  said  the  spy. 


A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  359 

"No.  Foreign!"  cried  Carton,  striking  his  open  hand 
on  the  table,  as  a  light  broke  clearly  on  his  mind.  "  Cly ! 
Disguised,  but  the  same  man.  We  had  that  man  before 
us  at  the  Old  Bailey." 

"Now,  there  you  are  hasty,  sir,"  said  Barsad,  with  a 
smile  that  gave  his  aquiline  nose  an  extra  inclination  to 
one  side ;  "  there  you  really  give  me  an  advantage  over  you. 
Cly  (who  I  will  unreservedly  admit,  at  this  distance  of 
time,  was  a  partner  of  mine)  has  been  dead  several  years. 
I  attended  him  in  his  last  illness.  He  was  buried  in  Lon- 
don, at  the  church  of  Saint  Pancras-in-the-Fields.  His 
unpopularity  with  the  blackguard  multitude  at  the  moment, 
prevented  my  following  his  remains,  but  I  helped  to  lay 
him  in  his  coffin." 

Here,  Mr.  Lorry  became  aware,  from  where  he  sat,  of  a 
most  remarkable  goblin  shadow  on  the  wall.  Tracing  it  to 
its  source,  he  discovered  it  to  be  caused  by  a  sudden  ex- 
traordinary rising  and  stiffening  of  all  the  risen  and  stiff 
hair  on  Mr.  Cruncher's  head. 

"Let  us  be  reasonable,"  said  the  spy,  "and  let  us  be  fair. 
To  show  you  how  mistaken  you  are,  and  what  an  unfounded 
assumption  yours  is,  I  will  lay  before  you  a  certificate  of 
Cly's  burial,  which  I  happen  to  have  carried  in  my  pocket- 
book,"  with  a  hurried  hand  he  produced  and  opened  it,  "  ever 
since.  There  it  is.  Oh,  look  at  it,  look  at  it!  You  may 
take  it  in  your  hand;  it's  no  forgery." 

Here,  Mr.  Lorry  perceived  the  reflexion  on  the  wall  to 
elongate,  and  Mr.  Cruncher  rose  and  stepped  forward.  His 
hair  could  not  have  been  more  violently  on  end,  if  it  had 
been  that  moment  dressed  by  the  Cow  with  the  crumpled 
horn  in  the  house  that  Jack  built. 

Unseen  by  the  spy,  Mr.  Cruncher  stood  at  his  side,  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder  like  a  ghostly  bailiff. 

"That  there  Roger  Cly,  master,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  with 


360  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

a  taciturn  and  iron-bound  visage.     "  So  you  put  him  in  his 
coffin?" 

"I  did." 

"Who  took  him  out  of  it?" 

Barsad  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  stammered,  "  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  "that  he  warn't  never  in 
it.  No!  Not  he!  I'll  have  my  head  took  off,  if  he  was 
ever  in  it." 

The  spy  looked  round  at  the  two  gentlemen;  they  both 
looked  in  unspeakable  astonishment  at  Jerry. 

"  I  tell  you, "  said  Jerry,  "  that  you  buried  paving-stones 
and  earth  in  that  there  coffin.  Don't  go  and  tell  me  that 
you  buried  Cly.  It  was  a  take  in.  Me  and  two  more 
knows  it." 

"How  do  you  know  it?" 

"What's  that  to  you?  Ecod!"  growled  Mr.  Cruncher, 
"  it's  you  I  have  got  a  old  grudge  again,  is  it,  with  your 
shameful  impositions  upon  tradesmen!  I'd  catch  hold  of 
your  throat  and  choke  you  for  half  a  guinea." 

Sydney  Carton,  who,  with  Mr.  Lorry,  had  been  lost  in 
amazement  at  this  turn  of  the  business,  here  requested  Mr. 
Cruncher  to  moderate  and  explain  himself. 

"  At  another  time,  sir,"  he  returned,  evasively,  "the  pres- 
ent time  is  ill-conwenient  for  explainin'.  What  I  stand  to, 
is,  that  he  knows  well  wot  that  there  Cly  was  never  in  that 
there  coffin.  Let  him  say  he  was,  in  so  much  as  a  word  of 
one  syllable,  and  I'll  either  catch  hold  of  his  throat  and 
choke  him  for  half  a  guinea;"  Mr.  Cruncher  dwelt  upon 
this  as  quite  a  liberal  offer;  "or  I'll  out  and  announce 
him." 

"Humph!  I  see  one  thing,"  said  Carton.  "I  hold 
another  card,  Mr.  Barsad.  Impossible,  here  in  raging  Paris, 
with  Suspicion  filling  the  air,  for  you  to  outlive  denuncia- 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  361 

tion,  when  you  are  in  communication  with  another  aris- 
tocratic spy  of  the  same  antecedents  as  yourself,  who, 
moreover,  has  the  mystery  about  him  of  having  feigned 
death  and  come  to  life  again !  A  plot  in  the  prisons,  of  the 
foreigner  against  the  Kepublic.  A  strong  card  —  a  certain 
Guillotine  card!     Do  you  play?" 

"No!  "  returned  the  spy.  "I  throw  up.  I  confess  that 
we  were  so  unpopular  with  the  outrageous  mob,  that  I  only 
got  away  from  England  at  the  risk  of  being  ducked  to 
death,  and  that  Cly  was  so  ferreted  up  and  down,  that  he 
never  would  have  got  away  at  all  but  for  that  sham. 
Though  how  this  man  knows  it  was  a  sham,  is  a  wonder  of 
wonders  to  me." 

"Never  you  trouble  your  head  about  this  man,"  retorted 
the  contentious  Mr.  Cruncher;  "you'll  have  trouble  enough 
with  giving  your  attention  to  that  gentleman.  And  look 
here !  Once  more !  "  —  Mr.  Cruncher  could  not  be  restrained 
from  making  rather  an  ostentatious  parade  of  his  liberality 
—  "  I'd  catch  hold  of  your  throat  and  choke  you  for  half  a 
guinea." 

The  Sheep  of  the  prisons  turned  from  him  to  Sydney 
Carton,  and  said,  with  more  decision,  "It  has  come  to  a 
point.  I  go  on  duty  soon,  and  can't  overstay  my  time. 
You  told  me  you  had  a  proposal;  what  is  it?  Now,  it  is 
of  no  use  asking  too  much  of  me.  Ask  me  to  do  anything 
in  my  office,  putting  my  head  in  great  extra  danger,  and  I 
had  better  trust  my  life  to  the  chances  of  a  refusal  than  the 
chances  of  consent.  In  short,  I  should  make  that  choice. 
You  talk  of  desperation.  We  are  all  desperate  here. 
Remember!  I  may  denounce  you  if  I  think  proper,  and  I 
can  swear  my  way  through  stone  walls,  and  so  can  others. 
Now,  what  do  you  want  with  me?" 

"Not  very  much.  You  are  a  turnkey  at  the  Con- 
ciergerie?" 


362  A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"I  tell  you  once  for  all,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an 
escape  possible,"  said  the  spy,  firmly. 

"Why  need  you  tell  me  what  I  have  not  asked?  You 
are  a  turnkey  at  the  Conciergerie?" 

"I  am  sometimes." 

"You  can  be  when  you  choose?" 

"I  can  pass  in  and  out  when  I  choose." 

Sydney  Carton  filled  another  glass  with  brandy,  poured 
it  slowly  out  upon  the  hearth,  and  watched  it  as  it  dropped. 
It  being  all  spent,  he  said,  rising : 

"  So  far,  we  have  spoken  before  these  two,  because  it  was 
as  well  that  the  merits  of  the  cards  should  not  rest  solely 
between  you  and  me.  Come  into  the  dark  room  here,  and 
let  us  have  one  final  word  alone." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    GAME    MADE. 


While  Sydney  Carton  and  the  Sheep  of  the  prisons  were 
in  the  adjoining  dark  room,  speaking  so  low  that  not  a 
sound  was  heard,  Mr.  Lorry  looked  at  Jerry  in  considerable 
doubt  and  mistrust.  That  honest  tradesman's  manner  of 
receiving  the  look,  did  not  inspire  confidence;  he  changed 
the  leg  on  which  he  rested,  as  often  as  if  he  had  fifty  of 
those  limbs,  and  were  trying  them  all;  he  examined  his 
finger-nails  with  a  very  questionable  closeness  of  attention ; 
and  whenever  Mr.  Lorry's  eye  caught  his,  he  was  taken  with 
that  peculiar  kind  of  short  cough  requiring  the  hollow  of  a 
hand  before  it,  which  is  seldom,  if  ever,  known  to  be  an 
infirmity  attendant  on  perfect  openness  of  character. 

"Jerry,"  said  Mr.  Lorry.     "Come  here." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  363 

Mr.  Cruncher  came  forward  sideways,  with  one  of  his 
shoulders  in  advance  of  him. 

"What  have  you  been,  besides  a  messenger?" 

After  some  cogitation,  accompanied  with  an  intent  look 
at  his  patron,  Mr.  Cruncher  conceived  the  luminous  idea  of 
replying,  "  Agricultooral  character." 

"My  mind  misgives  me  much,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  angrily 
shaking  a  forefinger  at  him,  "that  you  have  used  the 
respectable  and  great  house  of  Tellson's  as  a  blind,  and 
that  you  have  had  an  unlawful  occupation  of  an  infamous 
description.  If  you  have,  don't  expect  me  to  befriend  you 
when  you  get  back  to  England.  If  you  have,  don't  expect 
me  to  keep  your  secret.  Tellson's  shall  not  be  imposed 
upon." 

"I  hope,  sir,"  pleaded  the  abashed  Mr.  Cruncher,  "that  a 
gentleman  like  yourself  wot  I've  had  the  honour  of  odd 
jobbing  till  I'm  grey  at  it,  would  think  twice  about  harming 
of  me,  even  if  it  wos  so  —  I  don't  say  it  is,  but  even  if  it 
wos.  And  which  it  is  to  be  took  into  account  that  if  it 
wos,  it  wouldn't,  even  then,  be  all  o'  one  side.  There'd  be 
two  sides  to  it.  There  might  be  medical  doctors  at  the 
present  hour,  a  picking  up  their  guineas  where  a  honest 
tradesman  don't  pick  up  his  f ardens  —  f ardens !  no,  nor  yet 
his  half  f ardens  —  half  f ardens !  no,  nor  yet  his  quarter  —  a 
banking  away  like  smoke  at  Tellson's,  and  a  cocking  their 
medical  eyes  at  that  tradesman  on  the  sly,  a  going  in  and 
going  out  to  their  own  carriages  —  ah !  equally  like  smoke, 
if  not  more  so.  Well,  that  'ud  be  imposing,  too,  on  Tell- 
son's. For  you  cannot  sarse  the  goose  and  not  the  gander. 
And  here's  Mrs.  Cruncher,  or  leastways  wos  in  the  Old 
England  times,  and  would  be  to-morrow,  if  cause  given,  a 
floppin'  again  the  business  to  that  degree  as  is  ruinating  — 
stark  ruinating!  Whereas  them  medical  doctors'  wives 
don't  flop  —  catch  'em  at  it !    Or,  if  they  flop,  their  floppings 


364  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

goes  in  favour  of  more  patients,  and  how  can  you  rightly 
have  one  without  the  t'other?  Then,  wot  with  undertakers, 
and  wot  with  parish  clerks,  and  wot  with  sextons,  and  wot 
with  private  watchmen  (all  awaricious  and  all  in  it),  a  man 
wouldn't  get  much  by  it,  even  if  it  wos  so.  And  wot 
little  a  man  did  get,  would  never  prosper  with  him,  Mr. 
Lorry.  He'd  never  have  no  good  of  it;  he'd  want  all  along 
to  be  out  of  the  line,  if  he  could  see  his  way  out,  being  once 
in  —  even  if  it  wos  so." 

"Ugh!  "  cried  Mr.  Lorry,  rather  relenting,  nevertheless. 
"I  am  shocked  at  the  sight  of  you." 

"  Now,  what  I  would  humbly  offer  to  you,  sir, "  pursued 
Mr.  Cruncher,  "even  if  it  wos  so,  which  I  don't  say  it 
is " 

"Don't  prevaricate,"  said  Mr.  Lorry. 

"No,  I  will  not,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Cruncher,  as  if  nothing 
were  further  from  his  thoughts  or  practice  —  "which  I  don't 
say  it  is  —  wot  I  would  humbly  offer  to  you,  sir,  would  be 
this.  Upon  that  there  stool,  at  that  there  Bar,  sets  that 
there  boy  of  mine,  brought  up  and  growed  up  to  be  a  man, 
wot  will  errand  you,  message  you,  general-light-job  you, 
till  your  heels  is  where  your  head  is,  if  such  should  be  your 
wishes.  If  it  wos  so,  which  I  still  don't  say  it  is  (for  I 
will  not  prewar icate  to  you,  sir),  let  that  there  boy  keep 
his  father's  place,  and  take  care  of  his  mother;  don't  blow 
upon  that  boy's  father  —  do  not  do  it,  sir  —  and  let  that 
father  go  into  the  line  of  the  reg'lar  diggin',  and  make 
amends  for  what  he  would  have  un-dug  —  if  it  wos  so  — 
by  diggin'  of  'em  in  with  a  will,  and  with  conwictions 
respectin'  the  futur'  keepin'  of  'em  safe.  That,  Mr.  Lorry," 
said  Mr.  Cruncher,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his  arm,  as  an 
announcement  that  he  had  arrived  at  the  peroration  of  his 
discourse,  "  is  wot  I  would  respectfully  offer  to  you,  sir.  A 
man  don't  see  all  this  here  a  goin'  on  dreadful  round  him, 


A   TALE    OF   TWO   CITIES.  365 

in  the  way  of  Subjects  without  heads,  dear  me,  plentiful 
enough  fur  to  bring  the  price  down  to  porterage  and  hardly 
that,  without  havin'  his  serious  thoughts  of  things.  And 
these  here  would  be  mine,  if  it  wos  so,  entreatin'  of  you  fur 
to  bear  in  mind  that  wot  I  said  just  now,  I  up  and  said  in 
the  good  cause  when  I  might  have  kep'  it  back." 

"That  at  least  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Lorry.  "Say  no  more 
now.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  yet  stand  your  friend,  if  you 
deserve  it,  and  repent  in  action  —  not  in  words.  I  want  no 
more  words." 

Mr.  Cruncher  knuckled  his  forehead,  as  Sydney  Carton 
and  the  spy  returned  from  the  dark  room.  "Adieu,  Mr. 
Barsad!"  said  the  former;  "our  arrangement  thus  made, 
you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me." 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  on  the  hearth,  over  against  Mr. 
Lorry.  When  they  were  alone,  Mr.  Lorry  asked  him  what 
he  had  done? 

"  Not  much.  If  it  should  go  ill  with  the  prisoner,  I  have 
ensured  access  to  him,  once." 

Mr.  Lorry's  countenance  fell. 

"It  is  all  I  could  do,"  said  Carton.  "To  propose  too 
much,  would  be  to  put  this  man's  head  under  the  axe,  and, 
as  he  himself  said,  nothing  worse  could  happen  to  him  if 
he  were  denounced.  It  was  obviously,  the  weakness  of  the 
position.     There  is  no  help  for  it." 

"  But  access  to  him, "  said  Mr.  Lorry,  "  if  it  should  go  ill 
before  the  tribunal,  will  not  save  him." 

"I  never  said  it  would." 

Mr.  Lorry's  eyes  gradually  sought  the  fire;  his  sympathy 
with  his  darling,  and  the  heavy  disappointment  of  this 
second  arrest,  gradually  weakened  them ;  he  was  an  old  man 
now,  overborne  with  anxiety  of  late,  and  his  tears  fell. 

"  You  are  a  good  man  and  a  true  friend, "  said  Carton,  in 
an  altered  voice.     "Forgive  me  if  I  notice  that  you  are 


366  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

affected.  I  could  not  see  my  father  weep,  and  sit  by,  care- 
less. And  I  could  not  respect  your  sorrow  more,  if  you 
were  my  father.  You  are  free  from  that  misfortune, 
however." 

Though  he  said  the  last  words,  with  a  slip  into  his  usual 
manner,  there  was  a  true  feeling  and  respect  both  in  his  tone 
and  in  his  touch,  that  Mr.  Lorry,  who  had  never  seen  the 
better  side  of  him,  was  wholly  unprepared  for.  He  gave 
him  his  hand,  and  Carton  gently  pressed  it. 

"To  return  to  poor  Darnay,"  said  Carton.  "Don't  tell 
Her  of  this  interview,  or  this  arrangement.  It  would  not 
enable  Her  to  go  to  see  him.  She  might  think  it  was  con- 
trived, in  case  of  the  worst,  to  convey  to  him  the  means  of 
anticipating  the  sentence." 

Mr.  Lorry  had  not  thought  of  that,  and  he  looked  quickly 
at  Carton  to  see  if  it  were  in  his  mind.  It  seemed  to  be ; 
he  returned  the  look,  and  evidently  understood  it. 

"She  might  think  a  thousand  things,"  Carton  said,  "and 
any  of  them  would  only  add  to  her  trouble.  Don't  speak 
of  me  to  her.  As  I  said  to  you  when  I  first  came,  I  had 
better  not  see  her.  I  can  put  my  hand  out,  to  do  any  little 
helpful  work  for  her  that  my  hand  can  find  to  do,  without 
that.  You  are  going  to  her,  I  hope?  She  must  be  very 
desolate  to-night." 

"I  am  going  now,  directly." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  She  has  such  a  strong  attachment 
to  you  and  reliance  on  you.     How  does  she  look?" 

"Anxious  and  unhappy,  but  very  beautiful." 

"Ah!" 

It  was  a  long,  grieving  sound,  like  a  sigh  —  almost  like  a 
sob.  It  attracted  Mr.  Lorry's  eyes  to  Carton's  face,  which 
was  turned  to  the  fire.  A  light,  or  a  shade  (the  old  gentle- 
man could  not  have  said  which),  passed  from  it  as  swiftly 
as  a  change  will  sweep  over  a  hill-side  on  a  wild  bright 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  367 

day,  and  he  lifted  his  foot  to  put  back  one  of  the  little 
flaming  logs,  which  was  tumbling  forward.  He  wore  the 
white  riding-coat  and  top-boots,  then  in  vogue,  and  the  light 
of  the  tire  touching  their  light  surfaces  made  him  look  very 
pale,  with  his  long  brown  hair,  all  untrimmed,  hanging 
loose  about  him.  His  indifference  to  fire  was  sufficiently 
remarkable  to  elicit  a  word  of  remonstrance  from  Mr. 
Lorry;  his  boot  was  still  upon  the  hot  embers  of  the 
flaming  log,  when  it  had  broken  under  the  weight  of  his 
foot. 

"  I  forgot  it, "  he  said. 

Mr.  Lorry's  eyes  were  again  attracted  to  his  face.  Tak- 
ing note  of  the  wasted  air  which  clouded  the  naturally 
handsome  features,  and  having  the  expression  of  prisoners' 
faces  fresh  in  his  mind,  he  was  strongly  reminded  of  that 
expression. 

"And  your  duties  here  have  drawn  to  an  end,  sir?"  said 
Carton,  turning  to  him. 

"  Yes.  As  I  was  telling  you  last  night  when  Lucie  came 
in  so  unexpectedly,  I  have  at  length  done  all  that  I  can  do 
here.  I  hoped  to  have  left  them  in  perfect  safety,  and  then 
to  have  quitted  Paris.  I  have  my  Leave  to  Pass.  I  was 
ready  to  go." 

They  were  both  silent. 

"Yours  is  a  long  life  to  look  back  upon,  sir?"  said 
Carton,  wistfully. 

"I  am  in  my  seventy-eighth  year." 

"You  have  been  useful  all  your  life;  steadily  and  con- 
stantly occupied;  trusted,  respected,  and  looked  up  to?" 

"  I  have  been  a  man  of  business,  ever  since  I  have  been  a 
man.  Indeed,  I  may  say  that  I  was  a  man  of  business 
when  a  boy." 

"  See  what  a  place  you  fill  at  seventy-eight.  How  many 
people  will  miss  you  when  you  leave  it  empty !  " 


368  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  A  solitary  old  bachelor, "  answered  Mr.  Lorry,  shaking 
his  head.     "There  is  nobody  to  weep  for  me." 

"How  can  you  say  that?  Wouldn't  She  weep  for  you? 
Wouldn't  her  child?" 

"Yes,  yes,  thank  God.  I  didn't  quite  mean  what  I 
said." 

"It  is  a  thing  to  thank  God  for;  is  it  not? " 

"Surely,  surely." 

"  If  you  could  say,  with  truth,  to  your  own  solitary  heart, 
to-night,  'I  have  secured  to  myself  the  love  and  attach- 
ment, the  gratitude  or  respect,  of  no  human  creature;  I 
have  won  myself  a  tender  place  in  no  regard;  I  have  done 
nothing  good  or  serviceable  to  be  remembered  by ! '  your 
seventy-eight  years  would  be  seventy-eight  heavy  curses; 
would  they  not?" 

"You  say  truly,  Mr.  Carton;  I  think  they  would  be." 

Sydney  turned  his  eyes  again  upon  the  fire,  and,  after  a 
silence  of  a  few  moments,  said : 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you :  —  Does  your  childhood  seem 
far  off?  Do  the  days  when  you  sat  at  your  mother's  knee, 
seem  days  of  very  long  ago?  " 

Responding  to  his  softened  manner,  Mr.  Lorry  answered : 

"Twenty  years  back,  yes;  at  this  time  of  my  life,  no. 
For,  as  I  draw  closer  and  closer  to  the  end,  I  travel  in  the 
circle,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  beginning.  It  seems  to  be 
one  of  the  kind  smoothings  and  preparings  of  the  way. 
My  heart  is  touched  now,  by  many  remembrances  that  had 
long  fallen  asleep,  of  my  pretty  young  mother  (and  I  so 
old!),  and  by  many  associations  of  the  days  when  what  we 
call  the  World  was  not  so  real  with  me,  and  my  faults  were 
not  confirmed  in  me." 

"  I  understand  the  feeling !  "  exclaimed  Carton,  with  a 
bright  flush.     "  And  you  are  the  better  for  it?  " 

"  I  hope  so. " 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  369 

Carton  terminated  the  conversation  here,  by  rising  to 
help  him  on  with  his  outer  coat;  "  but  you,"  said  Mr.  Lorry, 
reverting  to  the  theme,  "you  are  young." 

"Yes,"  said  Carton.  "I  am  not  old,  but  my  young  way 
was  never  the  way  to  age.     Enough  of  me." 

"And  of  me,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mr.  Lorry.  "Are  you 
going  out?" 

"I'll  walk  with  you  to  her  gate.  You  know  my  vaga- 
bond and  restless  habits.  If  I  should  prowl  about  the 
streets  a  long  time,  don't  be  uneasy;  I  shall  reappear  in 
the  morning.     You  go  to  the  Court  to-morrow?  " 

"Yes,  unhappily." 

"I  shall  be  there,  but  only  as  one  of  the  crowd.  My 
Spy  will  find  a  place  for  me.     Take  my  arm,  sir." 

Mr.  Lorry  did  so,  and  they  went  down-stairs  and  out  in 
the  streets.  A  few  minutes  brought  them  to  Mr.  Lorry's 
destination.  Carton  left  him  there ;  but  lingered  at  a  little 
distance,  and  turned  back  to  the  gate  again  when  it  was 
shut,  and  touched  it.  He  had  heard  of  her  going  to  the 
prison  every  day.  "She  came  out  here,"  he  said,  looking 
about  him,  "turned  this  way,  must  have  trod  on  these 
stones  often.     Let  me  follow  in  her  steps." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night  when  he  stood  before  the 
prison  of  La  Force,  where  she  had  stood  hundreds  of  times. 
A  little  wood-sawyer,  having  closed  his  shop,  was  smoking 
his  pipe  at  his  shop-door. 

"Good  night,  citizen,"  said  Sydney  Carton,  pausing  in 
going  by;  for,  the  man  eyed  him  inquisitively. 

"Goodnight,  citizen." 

"How  goes  the  Republic?" 

"  You  mean  the  Guillotine.  Not  ill.  Sixty-three  to-day. 
We  shall  mount  to  a  hundred  soon.  Sanson  and  his  men 
complain  sometimes,  of  being  exhausted.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  He 
is  so  droll,  that  Sanson.     Such  a  Barber!  " 

2    B 


370  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 


v 


"  Do  you  often  go  to  see  him  — 

"Shave?  Always.  Everyday.  What  a  barber!  You 
have  seen  him  at  work?  " 

"Never." 

"  Go  and  see  him  when  he  has  a  good  batch.  Figure 
this  to  yourself,  citizen;  he  shaved  the  sixty -three  to-day, 
in  less  than  two  pipes!  Less  than  two  pipes.  Word  of 
honour ! " 

As  the  grinning  little  man  held  out  the  pipe  he  was 
smoking,  to  explain  how  he  timed  the  executioner,  Carton 
was  so  sensible  of  a  rising  desire  to  strike  the  life  out  of 
him,  that  he  turned  away. 

"But  you  are  not  English,"  said  the  wood-sawyer, 
"though  you  wear  English  dress?7' 

"Yes,"  said  Carton,  pausing  again,  and  answering  over 
his  shoulder. 

"You  speak  like  a  Frenchman." 

"I  am  an  old  student  here." 

"Aha,  a  perfect  Frenchman!     Good  night,  Englishman." 

"Goodnight,  citizen." 

"But  go  and  see  that  droll  dog,"  the  little  man  persisted, 
calling  after  him.     "And  take  a  pipe  with  you!  " 

Sydney  had  not  gone  far  out  of  sight,  when  he  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  the  street  under  a  glimmering  lamp,  and 
wrote  with  his  pencil  on  a  scrap  of  paper.  Then,  travers- 
ing with  the  decided  step  of  one  who  remembered  the  way 
well,  several  dark  and  dirty  streets  —  much  dirtier  than 
usual,  for  the  best  public  thoroughfares  remained  uncleansed 
in  those  times  of  terror  —  he  stopped  at  a  chemist's  shop, 
which  the  owner  was  closing  with  his  own  hands.  A 
small,  dim,  crooked  shop,  kept  in  a  tortuous,  up-hill  thor- 
oughfare, by  a  small,  dim,  crooked  man. 

Giving  this  citizen,  too,  good  night,  as  he  confronted  him 
at   his   counter,  he   laid   the   scrap   of  paper  before  him. 


A    TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES.  371 

"Whew !  "  the  chemist  whistled  softly,  as  he  read  it.  "  Hi ! 
hi!  hi!" 

Sydney  Carton  took  no  heed,  and  the  chemist  said  : 

"For  yon,  citizen?" 

"  For  me." 

"  Yon  will  be  careful  to  keep  them  separate,  citizen  ? 
Yon  know  the  consequences  of  mixing  them  ?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

Certain  small  packets  were  made  and  given  to  him.  He 
put  them,  one  by  one,  in  the  breast  of  his  inner  coat, 
counted  out  the  money  for  them,  and  deliberately  left  the 
shop.  "There  is  nothing  more  to  do,"  said  he,  glanc- 
ing upward  at  the  moon,  "until  to-morrow.  I  can't 
sleep." 

It  was  not  a  reckless  manner,  the  manner  in  which  he 
said  these  words  aloud  under  the  fast-sailing  clouds,  nor 
was  it  more  expressive  of  negligence  than  defiance.  It  was 
the  settled  manner  of  a  tired  man,  who  had  wandered  and 
struggled  and  got  lost,  but  who  at  length  struck  into  his 
road  and  saw  its  end. 

Long  ago,  when  he  had  been  famous  among  his  earliest 
competitors  as  a  youth  of  great  promise,  he  had  followed 
his  father  to  the  grave.  His  mother  had  died,  years  be- 
fore. These  solemn  words,  which  had  been  read  at  his 
father's  grave,  arose  in  his  mind  as  he  went  down  the  dark 
streets,  among  the  heavy  shadows,  with  the  moon  and  the 
clouds  sailing  on  high  above  him.  "  I  am  the  resurrection 
and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord :  he  that  believeth  in  me, 
though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live :  and  whosoever 
liveth  and  believeth  in  me,  shall  never  die." 

In  a  city  dominated  by  the  axe,  alone  at  night,  with 
natural  sorrow  rising  in  him  for  the  sixty-three  who  had 
been  that  day  put  to  death,  and  for  to-morrow's  victims  then 
awaiting  their  doom  in  the  prisons,  and  still  of  to-morrow's 


372  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and  to-morrow's,  the  chain  of  association  that  brought  the 
words  home,  like  a  rusty  old  ship's  anchor  from  the  deep, 
might  have  been  easily  found.  He  did  not  seek  it,  but 
repeated  them  and  went  on. 

With  a  solemn  interest  in  the  lighted  windows  where 
the  people  were  going  to  rest,  forgetful  through  a  few  calm 
hours  of  the  horrors  surrounding  them;  in  the  towers  of 
the  churches,  where  no  prayers  were  said,  for  the  popular 
revulsion  had  even  travelled  that  length  of  self-destruction 
from  years  of  priestly  impostors,  plunderers,  and  profli- 
gates; in  the  distant  burial-places,  reserved,  as  they  wrote 
upon  the  gates,  for  Eternal  Sleep ;  in  the  abounding  gaols ; 
and  in  the  streets  along  which  the  sixties  rolled  to  a  death 
which  had  become  so  common  and  material,  that  no  sorrow- 
ful story  of  a  haunting  Spirit  ever  arose  among  the  people 
out  of  all  the  working  of  the  Guillotine;  with  a  solemn 
interest  in  the  whole  life  and  death  of  the  city  settling 
down  to  its  short  nightly  pause  in  fury;  Sydney  Carton 
crossed  the  Seine  again  for  the  lighter  streets. 

Few  coaches  were  abroad,  for  riders  in  coaches  were  lia- 
ble to  be  suspected,  and  gentility  hid  its  head  in  red  night- 
caps, and  put  on  heavy  shoes,  and  trudged.  But,  the 
theatres  were  all  well  filled,  and  the  people  poured  cheer- 
fully out  as  he  passed,  and  went  chatting  home.  At  one 
of  the  theatre  doors,  there  was  a  little  girl  with  a  mother, 
looking  for  a  way  across  the  street  through  the  mud.  He 
carried  the  child  over,  and  before  the  timid  arm  was  loosed 
from  his  neck  asked  her  for  a  kiss. 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord :  he 
that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he 
live:  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me,  shall 
never  die." 

Now,  that  the  streets  were  quiet,  and  the  night  wore 
on,  the  words  were   in  the  echoes  of  his  feet,    and  were 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  373 

in  the  air.  Perfectly  calm  and  steady,  he  sometimes 
repeated  them  to  himself  as  he  walked;  but,  he  heard  them 
always. 

The  night  wore  out,  and,  as  he  stood  upon  the  bridge 
listening  to  the  water  as  it  splashed  the  river-walls  of  the 
Island  of  Paris,  where  the  picturesque  confusion  of  houses 
and  cathedral  shone  bright  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  the 
day  came  coldly,  looking  like  a  dead  face  out  of  the  sky. 
Then,  the  night,  with  the  moon  and  the  stars,  turned  pale 
and  died,  and  for  a  little  while  it  seemed  as  if  Creation 
were  delivered  over  to  Death's  dominion. 

But,  the  glorious  sun,  rising,  seemed  to  strike  those 
words,  that  burden  of  the  night,  straight  and  warm  to  his 
heart  in  its  long  bright  rays.  And  looking  along  them, 
with  reverently  shaded  eyes,  a  bridge  of  light  appeared  to 
span  the  air  between  him  and  the  sun,  while  the  river 
sparkled  uDder  it. 

The  strong  tide,  so  swift,  so  deep,  and  certain,  was  like 
a  congenial  friend,  in  the  morning  stillness.  He  walked 
by  the  stream,  far  from  the  houses,  and  in  the  light  and 
warmth  of  the  sun  fell  asleep  on  the  bank.  "When  he 
awoke  and  was  afoot  again,  he  lingered  there  yet  a  little 
longer,  watching  an  eddy  that  turned  and  turned  purpose- 
less, until  the  stream  absorbed  it,  and  carried  it  on  to  the 
sea.  — "Like  me!  " 

A  trading-boat,  with  a  sail  of  the  softened  colour  of  a 
dead  leaf,  then  glided  into  his  view,  floated  by  him,  and 
died  away.  As  its  silent  track  in  the  water  disappeared, 
the  prayer  that  had  broken  up  out  of  his  heart  for  a  mer- 
ciful consideration  of  all  his  poor  blindnesses  and  errors, 
ended  in  the  words,  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life." 

Mr.  Lorry  was  already  out  when  he  got  back,  and  it  was 
easy  to  surmise  where  the  good  old  man  was  gone.     Sydney 


374  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Carton  drank  nothing  but  a  little  coffee,  ate  some  bread, 
and,  having  washed  and  changed  to  refresh  himself,  went 
out  to  the  place  of  trial. 

The  court  was  all  astir  and  a-buzz,  when  the  black  sheep 
—  whom  many  fell  away  from  in  dread  —  pressed  him  into 
an  obscure  corner  among  the  crowd.  Mr.  Lorry  was  there, 
and  Doctor  Manette  was  there.  She  was  there,  sitting  be- 
side her  father. 

When  her  husband  was  brought  in,  she  turned  a  look 
upon  him,  so  sustaining,  so  encouraging,  so  full  of  admir- 
ing love  and  pitying  tenderness,  yet  so  courageous  for  his 
sake,  that  it  called  the  healthy  blood  into  his  face,  bright- 
ened his  glance,  and  animated  his  heart.  If  there  had  been 
any  eyes  to  notice  the  influence  of  her  look,  on  Sydney  Car- 
ton, it  would  have  been  seen  to  be  the  same  influence  exactly. 

Before  that  unjust  Tribunal,  there  was  little  or  no  order 
of  procedure,  ensuring  to  any  accused  person  any  reasonable 
hearing.  There  could  have  been  no  such  Revolution,  if  all 
laws,  and  forms,  and  ceremonies,  had  not  first  been  so  mon- 
strously abused,  that  the  suicidal  vengeance  of  the  Revolu- 
tion was  to  scatter  them  all  to  the  winds. 

Every  eye  was  turned  to  the  jury.  The  same  determined 
patriots  and  good  republicans  as  yesterday  and  the  day 
before,  and  to-morrow  and  the  day  after.  Eager  and  promi- 
nent among  them,  one  man  with  a  craving  face,  and  his 
fingers  perpetually  hovering  about  his  lips,  whose  appear- 
ance gave  great  satisfaction  to  the  spectators.  A  life- 
thirsting,  cannibal-looking,  bloody-minded  juryman,  the 
Jacques  Three  of  Saint  Antoine.  The  whole  jury,  as  a 
jury  of  dogs  empannelled  to  try  the  deer. 

Every  eye  then  turned  to  the  five  judges  and  the  public 
prosecutor.  No  favourable  leaning  in  that  quarter  to- 
day. A  fell,  uncompromising,  murderous  business-mean- 
ing there.     Every  eye  then  sought  some  other  eye  in  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  375 

crowd,  and  gleamed  at  it  approvingly;  and  heads  nodded 
at  one  another,  before  bending  forward  with  a  strained 
attention. 

Charles  Evremonde,  called  Darnay.  Eeleased  yester- 
day. Re-accused  and  re-taken  yesterday.  Indictment 
delivered  to  him  last  night.  Suspected  and  Denounced 
enemy  of  the  Republic,  Aristocrat,  one  of  a  family  of 
tyrants,  one  of  a  race  proscribed,  for  that  they  had  used 
their  abolished  privileges  to  the  infamous  oppression  of  the 
people.  Charles  Evremonde,  called  Darnay,  in  right  of 
such  proscription,  absolutely  Dead  in  Law. 

To  this  effect,  in  as  few  or  fewer  words,  the  Public  Pros- 
ecutor. 

The  President  asked,  was  the  Accused  openly  denounced 
or  secretly? 

"Openly,  President." 

" By  whom?" 

"Three  voices.  Ernest  Defarge,  wine-vendor  of  Saint 
Antoine." 

"Good." 

"Therese  Defarge,  his  wife." 

"Good." 

"Alexandre  Manette,  physician." 

A  great  uproar  took  place  in  the  court,  and  in  the  midst 
of  it,  Doctor  Manette  was  seen,  pale  and  trembling,  stand- 
ing where  he  had  been  seated. 

"President,  I  indignantly  protest  to  you  that  this  is  a 
forgery  and  a  fraud.  You  know  the  accused  to  be  the  hus- 
band of  my  daughter.  My  daughter,  and  those  dear  to  her, 
are  far  dearer  to  me  than  my  life.  Who  and  where  is  the 
false  conspirator  who  says  that  I  denounce  the  husband  of 
my  child?" 

"  Citizen  Manette,  be  tranquil.  To  fail  in  submission  to 
the  authority  of  the  Tribunal  would  be  to  put  yourself  out 


376  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

of  Law.     As  to  what  is  dearer  to  you  than  life,  nothing  can 
be  so  dear  to  a  good  citizen  as  the  Republic." 

Loud  acclamations  hailed  this  rebuke.  The  President 
rang  his  bell,  and  with  warmth  resumed. 

"  If  the  Republic  should  demand  of  you  the  sacrifice  of  your 
child  herself,  you  would  have  no  duty  but  to  sacrifice  her. 
Listen  to  what  is  to  follow.    In  the  mean  while,  be  silent !  " 

Frantic  acclamations  were  again  raised.  Doctor  Manette 
sat  down,  with  his  eyes  looking  around,  and  his  lips  trem- 
bling; his  daughter  drew  closer  to  him.  The  craving  man 
on  the  jury  rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  restored  the 
usual  hand  to  his  mouth. 

Defarge  was  produced,  when  the  court  was  quiet  enough 
to  admit  of  his  being  heard,  and  rapidly  expounded  the 
story  of  the  imprisonment,  and  of  his  having  been  a  mere 
boy  in  the  Doctor's  service,  and  of  the  release,  and  of  the 
state  of  the  prisoner  when  released  and  delivered  to  him. 
This  short  examination  followed,  for  the  court  was  quick 
with  its  work. 

"You  did  good  service  at  the  taking  of  the  Bastille, 
citizen?" 

"I  believe  so." 

Here,  an  excited  woman  screeched  from  the  crowd :  "  You 
were  one  of  the  best  patriots  there.  Why  not  say  so? 
You  were  a  cannonier  that  day  there,  and  you  were  among 
the  first  to  enter  the  accursed  fortress  when  it  fell.  Patri- 
ots, I  speak  the  truth !  " 

It  was  The  Vengeance  who,  amidst  the  warm  commen- 
dations of  the  audience,  thus  assisted  the  proceedings. 
The  President  rang  his  bell ;  but,  The  Vengeance,  warming 
with  encouragement,  shrieked,  "I  defy  that  bell!  "  wherein 
she  was  likewise  much  commended. 

"  Inform  the  Tribunal  of  what  you  did  that  day  within 
the  Bastille,  citizen." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  377 

"  I  knew, "  said  Defarge,  looking  down  at  his  wife,  who 
stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  on  which  he  was  raised, 
looking  steadily  up  at  him  j  "  I  knew  that  this  prisoner,  of 
whom  I  speak,  had  been  confined  in  a  cell  known  as  One 
Hundred  and  Five,  North  Tower.  I  knew  it  from  him- 
self. He  knew  himself  by  no  other  name  than  One  Hun- 
dred and  Five,  North  Tower,  when  he  made  shoes  under 
my  care.  As  I  serve  my  gun  that  day,  I  resolve,  when  the 
place  shall  fall,  to  examine  that  cell.  It  falls.  I  mount 
to  the  cell,  with  a  fellow-citizen  who  is  one  of  the  Jury, 
directed  by  a  gaoler.  I  examine  it,  very  closely.  In  a  hole 
in  the  chimney,  where  a  stone  has  been  worked  out  and 
replaced,  I  find  a  written  paper.  This  is  that  written  paper. 
I  have  made  it  my  business  to  examine  some  specimens 
of  the  writing  of  Doctor  Manette.  This  is  the  writing  of 
Doctor  Manette.  I  confide  this  paper,  in  the  writing  of 
Doctor  Manette,  to  the  hands  of  the  President." 

"Let  it  be  read." 

In  a  dead  silence  and  stillness  —  the  prisoner  under  trial 
looking  lovingly  at  his  wife,  his  wife  only  looking  from  him 
to  look  with  solicitude  at  her  father,  Doctor  Manette  keep- 
ing his  eyes  fixed  on  the  reader,  Madame  Defarge  never 
taking  hers  from  the  prisoner,  Defarge  never  taking  his 
from  his  feasting  wife,  and  all  the  other  eyes  there  intent 
upon  the  Doctor,  who  saw  none  of  them  —  the  paper  was 
read,  as  follows. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    SUBSTANCE    OF    THE    SHADOW. 

"I,  Alexandre  Manette,  unfortunate  physician,  native 
of  Beauvais  and  afterwards  resident  in  Paris,  write  this 
melancholy  paper  in  my  doleful  cell  in  the  Bastille,  during 


378  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

the  last  month  of  the  year,  1767.  I  write  it  at  stolen  in- 
tervals, under  every  difficulty.  I  design  to  secrete  it  in 
the  wall  of  the  chimney,  where  I  have  slowly  and  labori- 
ously made  a  place  of  concealment  for  it.  Some  pitying 
hand  may  find  it  there,  when  I  and  my  sorrows  are  dust. 

"  These  words  are  formed  by  the  rusty  iron  point  with 
which  I  write  with  difficulty  in  scrapings  of  soot  and  char- 
coal from  the  chimney,  mixed  with  blood,  in  the  last  month 
of  the  tenth  year  of  my  captivity.  Hope  has  quite  departed 
from  my  breast.  I  know  from  terrible  warnings  I  have 
noted  in  myself  that  my  reason  will  not  long  remain  unim- 
paired, but  I  solemnly  declare  that  I  am  at  this  time  in  the 
possession  of  my  right  mind  —  that  my  memory  is  exact 
and  circumstantial  —  and  that  I  write  the  truth  as  I  shall 
answer  for  these  my  last  recorded  words,  whether  they  be 
ever  read  by  men  or  not,  at  the  Eternal  Judgment-seat. 

"One  cloudy  moonlight  night,  in  the  third  week  of 
December  (I  think  the  twenty-second  of  the  month),  in  the 
year  1757,  I  was  walking  on  a  retired  part  of  the  quay  by 
the  Seine  for  the  refreshment  of  the  frosty  air,  at  an  hour's 
distance  from  my  place  of  residence  in  the  Street  of  the 
School  of  Medicine,  when  a  carriage  came  along  behind  me 
driven  very  fast.  As  I  stood  aside  to  let  that  carriage 
pass,  apprehensive  that  it  might  otherwise  run  me  down,  a 
head  was  put  out  at  the  window,  and  a  voice  called  to  the 
driver  to  stop. 

"  The  carriage  stopped  as  soon  as  the  driver  could  rein  in 
his  horses,  and  the  same  voice  called  to  me  by  my  name.  I 
answered.  The  carriage  was  then  so  far  in  advance  of  me 
that  two  gentlemen  had  time  to  open  the  door  and  alight 
before  I  came  up  with  it.  I  observed  that  they  were  both 
wrapped  in  cloaks,  and  appeared  to  conceal  themselves.  As 
they  stood  side  by  side  near  the  carriage  door,  I  also  observed 
that  they  both  looked  of  about  my  own  age,  or  rather  younger, 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  379 

and  that  they  were  greatly  alike,  in  stature,  manner,  voice, 
and  (as  far  as  I  could  see)  face  too. 

'"  You  are  Doctor  Manette?  '  said  one. 

"'lam.' 

"'  Doctor  Manette,  formerly  of  Beauvais,7  said  the  other; 
'the  young  physician,  originally  an  expert  surgeon,  who, 
within  the  last  year  or  two  has  made  a  rising  reputation  in 
Paris?7 

"'Gentlemen,'  I  returned,  'I  am  that  Doctor  Manette  of 
whom  you  speak  so  graciously.' 

"'We  have  been  to  your  residence,7  said  the  first,  'and 
not  being  so  fortunate  as  to  find  you  there,  and  being 
informed  that  you  were  probably  walking  in  this  direction, 
we  followed,  in  the  hope  of  overtaking  you.  Will  you 
please  to  enter  the  carriage?  7 

"  The  manner  of  both  was  imperious,  and  they  both  moved, 
as  these  words  were  spoken,  so  as  to  place  me  between 
themselves  and  the  carriage  door.  They  were  armed.  I 
was  not. 

'"Gentlemen,7  said  I,  'pardon  me;  but  I  usually  inquire 
who  does  me  the  honour  to  seek  my  assistance,  and  what  is 
the  nature  of  the  case  to  which  I  am  summoned.7 

"The  reply  to  this,  was  made  by  him  who  had  spoken 
second.  '  Doctor,  your  clients  are  people  of  condition.  As 
to  the  nature  of  the  case,  our  confidence  in  your  skill 
assures  us  that  you  will  ascertain  it  for  yourself  better  than 
we  can  describe  it.  Enough.  Will  you  please  to  enter  the 
carriage?  7 

"I  could  do  nothing  but  comply,  and  I  entered  it  in 
silence.  They  both  entered  after  me  —  the  last  springing 
in,  after  putting  up  the  steps.  The  carriage  turned  about, 
and  drove  on  at  its  former  speed. 

"I  repeat  this  conversation  exactly  as  it  occurred.  I 
have   no    doubt  that  it   is,  word    for   word,  the  same.     I 


380  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

describe  everything  exactly  as  it  took  place,  constraining 
my  mind  not  to  wander  from  the  task.  Where  I  make  the 
broken  marks  that  follow  here,  I  leave  off  for  the  time, 
and  put  my  paper  in  its  hiding-place.   .   .   . 

"The  carriage  left  the  streets  behind,  passed  the  North 
Barrier,  and  emerged  upon  the  country  road.  At  two- 
thirds  of  a  league  from  the  Barrier  —  I  did  not  estimate  the 
distance  at  that  time,  but  afterwards  when  I  traversed  it  — 
it  struck  out  of  the  main  avenue,  and  presently  stopped  at 
a  solitary  house.  We  all  three  alighted,  and  walked,  by  a 
damp  soft  footpath  in  a  garden  where  a  neglected  fountain 
had  overflowed,  to  the  door  of  the  house.  It  was  not  opened 
immediately,  in  answer  to  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  one 
of  my  two  conductors  struck  the  man  who  opened  it,  with 
his  heavy  riding-glove,  across  the  face. 

"There  was  nothing  in  this  action  to  attract  my  particular 
attention,  for  I  had  seen  common  people  struck  more  com- 
monly than  dogs.  But,  the  other  of  the  two,  being  angry 
likewise,  struck  the  man  in  like  manner  with  his  arm ;  the 
look  and  bearing  of  the  brothers  were  then  so  exactly  alike, 
that  I  then  first  perceived  them  to  be  twin  brothers. 

"  From  the  time  of  our  alighting  at  the  outer  gate  (which 
we  found  locked,  and  which  one  of  the  brothers  had  opened 
to  admit  us,  and  had  re-locked),  I  had  heard  cries  proceed- 
ing from  an  upper  chamber.  I  was  conducted  to  this 
chamber  straight,  the  cries  growing  louder  as  we  ascended 
the  stairs,  and  I  found  a  patient  in  a  high  fever  of  the 
brain,  lying  on  a  bed. 

"  The  patient  was  a  woman  of  great  beauty,  and  young ; 
assuredly  not  much  past  twenty.  Her  hair  was  torn  and 
ragged,  and  her  arms  were  bound  to  her  sides  with  sashes 
and  handkerchiefs.  I  noticed  that  these  bonds  were  all 
portions  of  a  gentleman's  dress.  On  one  of  them,  which 
was  a  fringed  scarf  for  a  dress  of  ceremony,  I  saw  the 
armorial  bearing  of  a  Noble,  and  the  letter  E. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  381 

"  I  saw  this,  within  the  first  minute  of  my  contemplation 
of  the  patient;  for,  in  her  restless  strivings  she  had  turned 
over  on  her  face  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  had  drawn  the  end 
of  the  scarf  into  her  mouth,  and  was  in  danger  of  suffoca- 
tion. My  first  act  was  to  put  out  my  hand  to  relieve  her 
breathing;  and  in  moving  the  scarf  aside,  the  embroidery 
in  the  corner  caught  my  sight. 

"I  turned  her  gently  over,  placed  my  hands  upon  her 
breast  to  calm  her  and  keep  her  down,  and  looked  into  her 
face.  Her  eyes  were  dilated  and  wild,  and  she  constantly 
uttered  piercing  shrieks,  and  repeated  the  words,  '  My  hus- 
band, my  father,  and  my  brother ! '  and  then  counted  up  to 
twelve,  and  said,  '  Hush ! '  For  an  instant,  and  no  more, 
she  would  pause  to  listen,  and  then  the  piercing  shrieks 
would  begin  again,  and  she  would  repeat  the  cry,  '  My  hus- 
band, my  father,  and  my  brother ! '  and  would  count  up  to 
twelve,  and  say  'Hush!'  There  was  no  variation  in  the 
order,  or  the  manner.  There  was  no  cessation,  but  the 
regular  moment's  pause,  in  the  utterance  of  these  sounds. 

"'  How  long,'  I  asked,  '  has  this  lasted? ' 

"  To  distinguish  the  brothers,  I  will  call  them  the  elder 
and  the  younger;  by  the  elder,  I  mean  him  who  exercised 
the  most  authority.  It  was  the  elder  who  replied,  'Since 
about  this  hour  last  night. ' 

" '  She  has  a  husband,  a  father,  and  a  brother? ' 
•     "'A  brother.' 

" '  I  do  not  address  her  brother? T 

"He  answered  with  great  contempt,  '  No.' 

"'She  has  some  recent  association  with  the  number 
twelve?'    . 

"  The  younger  brother  impatiently  rejoined,  'With  twelve 
o'clock?' 

" '  See,  gentlemen, '  said  I,  still  keeping  my  hands  upon 
her  breast,  'how  useless  I  am,  as  you  have  brought  me!     If 


382  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

I  had  known  what  I  was  coming  to  see,  I  could  have  come 
provided.  As  it  is,  time  must  be  lost.  There  are  no 
medicines  to  be  obtained  in  this  lonely  place. ' 

"The  elder  brother  looked  to  the  younger,  who  said 
haughtily,  '  There  is  a  case  of  medicines  here ; '  and  brought 
it  from  a  closet,  and  put  it  on  the  table.   .   .   . 

"  I  opened  some  of  the  bottles,  smelt  them,  and  put  the 
stoppers  to  my  lips.  If  I  had  wanted  to  use  anything  save 
narcotic  medicines  that  were  poisons  in  themselves,  I  would 
not  have  administered  any  of  those. 

" '  Do  you  doubt  them?  '  asked  the  younger  brother. 

"'  You  see,  monsieur,  I  am  going  to  use  them,'  I  replied, 
and  said  no  more. 

"I  made  the  patient  swallow,  with  great  difficulty,  and 
after  many  efforts,  the  dose  that  I  desired  to  give.  As  I 
intended  to  repeat  it  after  a  while,  and  as  it  was  necessary 
to  watch  its  influence,  I  then  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the 
bed.  There  was  a  timid  and  suppressed  woman  in  attend- 
ance (wife  of  the  man  down-stairs),  who  had  retreated  into 
a  corner.  The  house  was  damp  and  decayed,  indifferently 
furnished  —  evidently,  recently  occupied  and  temporarily 
used.  Some  thick  old  hangings  had  been  nailed  up  before 
the  windows,  to  deaden  the  sound  of  the  shrieks.  They 
continued  to  be  uttered  in  their  regular  succession,  with 
the  cry,  '  My  husband,  my  father,  and  my  brother ! '  the 
counting  up  to  twelve,  and  '  Hush ! '  The  frenzy  was  so 
violent,  that  I  had  not  unfastened  the  bandages  restraining 
the  arms ;  but,  I  had  looked  to  them,  to  see  that  they  were 
not  painful.  The  only  spark  of  encouragement  in  the  case, 
was,  that  my  hand  upon  the  sufferer's  breast  had  this  much 
soothing  influence,  that  for  minutes  at  a  time  it  tranquillised 
the  figure.  It  had  no  effect  upon  the  cries;  no  pendulum 
could  be  more  regular. 

"For  the  reason  that  my  hand  had  this  effect  (I  assume), 


A    TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES.  383 

I  had  sat  by  the  side  of  the  bed  for  half  an  hour,  with  the 
two  brothers  looking  on,  before  the  elder  said : 

"'  There  is  another  patient. ' 

"I  was  startled,  and  asked,  '  Is  it  a  pressing  case? ' 

'"  You  had  better  see,'  he  carelessly  answered;  and  took 
up  a  light.   .   .   . 

"The  other  patient  lay  in  a  back  room  across  a  second 
staircase,  which  was  a  species  of  loft  over  a  stable.  There 
was  a  low  plastered  ceiling  to  a  part  of  it;  the  rest  was 
open,  to  the  ridge  of  the  tiled  roof,  and  there  were  beams 
across.  Hay  and  straw  were  stored  in  that  portion  of  the 
place,  fagots  for  firing,  and  a  heap  of  apples  in  sand.  I 
had  to  pass  through  that  part,  to  get  at  the  other.  My 
memory  is  circumstantial  and  unshaken.  I  try  it  with 
these  details,  and  I  see  them  all,  in  this  my  cell  in  the 
Bastille,  near  the  close  of  the  tenth  year  of  my  captivity, 
as  I  saw  them  all  that  night. 

"On  some  hay  on  the  ground,  with  a  cushion  thrown 
under  his  head,  lay  a  handsome  peasant  boy  —  a  boy  of  not 
more  than  seventeen  at  the  most.  He  lay  on  his  back,  with 
his  teeth  set,  his  right  hand  clenched  on  his  breast,  and  his 
glaring  eyes  looking  straight  upward.  I  could  not  see 
where  his  wound  was,  as  I  kneeled  on  one  knee  over  him ; 
but,  I  could  see  that  he  was  dying  of  a  wound  from  a  sharp 
point. 

" 1 1  am  a  doctor,  my  poor  fellow, '  said  I.  '  Let  me 
examine  it.'1 

" '  I  do  not  want  it  examined, '  he  answered ;  '  let 
it  be.' 

"It  was  under  his  hand,  and  I  soothed  him  to  let  me 
move  his  hand  away.  The  wound  was  a  sword-thrust, 
received  from  twenty  to  twenty-four  hours  before,  but  no 
skill  could  have  saved  him  if  it  had  been  looked  to  without 
delay.     He  was  then  dying  fast.     As  I  turned  my  eyes  to 


384  A    TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

the  elder  brother,  I  saw  him  looking  down  at  this  handsome 
boy  whose  life  was  ebbing  out,  as  if  he  were  a  wounded 
bird,  or  hare,  or  rabbit;  not  at  all  as  if  he  were  a  fellow- 
creature. 

" '  How  has  this  been  done,  monsieur?  '  said  I. 

"'A  crazed  young  common  dog!  A  serf!  Forced  my 
brother  to  draw  upon  him,  and  has  fallen  by  my  brother's 
sword  —  like  a  gentleman.' 

"  There  was  no  touch  of  pity,  sorrow,  or  kindred  humanity, 
in  this  answer.  The  speaker  seemed  to  acknowledge  that  it 
was  inconvenient  to  have  that  different  order  of  creature 
dying  there,  and  that  it  would  have  been  better  if  he  had 
died  in  the  usual  obscure  routine  of  his  vermin  kind.  He 
was  quite  incapable  of  any  compassionate  feeling  about  the 
boy,  or  about  his  fate. 

"The  boy's  eyes  had  slowly  moved  to  him  as  he  had 
spoken,  and  they  now  slowly  moved  to  me. 

" '  Doctor,  they  are  very  proud,  these  Nobles ;  but  we 
common  dogs  are  proud  too,  sometimes.  They  plunder  us, 
outrage  us,  beat  us,  kill  us ;  but  we  have  a  little  pride  left, 
sometimes.     She have  you  seen  her,  Doctor?  ' 

"The  shrieks  and  the  cries  were  audible  there,  though 
subdued  by  the  distance.  He  referred  to  them,  as  if  she 
were  lying  in  our  presence. 

"  I  said,  '  I  have  seen  her. ' 

" '  She  is  my  sister,  Doctor.  They  have  had  their  shame- 
ful rights,  these  Nobles,  in  the  modesty  and  virtue  of  our 
sisters,  many  years,  but  we  have  had  good  girls  among  us. 
I  know  it,  and  have  heard  my  father  say  so.  She  was  a 
good  girl.  She  was  betrothed  to  a  good  young  man,  too :  a 
tenant  of  his.  We  were  all  tenants  of  his  —  that  man's 
who  stands  there.  The  other  is  his  brother,  the  worst  of  a 
bad  race.' 

"  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  boy  gathered 


A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES.  385 

bodily  force  to  speak;  but,  his  spirit  spoke  with  a  dreadful 
emphasis. 

" '  We  were  so  robbed  by  that  man  who  stands  there,  as 
all  we  common  dogs  are  by  those  superior  Beings  —  taxed 
by  him  without  mercy,  obliged  to  work  for  him  without 
pay,  obliged  to  grind  our  corn  at  his  mill,  obliged  to  feed 
scores  of  his  tame  birds  on  our  wretched  crops,  and  for- 
bidden for  our  lives  to  keep  a  single  tame  bird  of  our  own, 
pillaged  and  plundered  to  that  degree  that  when  we  chanced 
to  have  a  bit  of  meat,  we  ate  it  in  fear,  with  the  door  barred 
and  the  shutters  closed,  that  his  people  should  not  see  it 
and  take  it  from  us  —  I  say,  we  were  so  robbed,  and  hunted, 
and  were  made  so  poor,  that  our  father  told  us  it  was  a 
dreadful  thing  to  bring  a  child  into  the  world,  and  that 
what  we  should  most  pray  for,  was,  that  our  women  might 
be  barren  and  our  miserable  race  die  out !  ' 

"  I  had  never  before  seen  the  sense  of  being  oppressed, 
bursting  forth  like  a  fire.  I  had  supposed  that  it  must  be 
latent  in  the  people  somewhere;  but,  I  had  never  seen  it 
break  out,  until  I  saw  it  in  the  dying  boy. 

" '  Nevertheless,  Doctor,  my  sister  married.  He  was  ail- 
ing at  that  time,  poor  fellow,  and  she  married  her  lover, 
that  she  might  tend  and  comfort  him  in  our  cottage  —  our 
dog-hut,  as  that  man  would  call  it.  She  had  not  been 
married  many  weeks,  when  that  man's  brother  saw  her  and 
admired  her,  and  asked  that  man  to  lend  her  to  him  —  for 
what  are  husbands  among  us !  He  was  willing  enough,  but 
my  sister  was  good  and  virtuous,  and  hated  his  brother  with 
a  hatred  as  strong  as  mine.  What  did  the  two  then,  to 
persuade  her  husband  to  use  his  influence  with  her,  to  make 
her  willing? ' 

"  The  boy's  eyes,  which  had  been  fixed  on  mine,  slowly 
turned  to  the  looker-on,  and  I  saw  in  the  two  faces  that  all 
he  said  was  true.     The  two  opposing  kinds  of  pride  con- 

2  c 


386  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

fronting  one  another,  I  can  see,  even  in  this  Bastille;  the 
gentleman's,  all  negligent  indifference;  the  peasant's,  all 
trodden-down  sentiment,  and  passionate  revenge. 

" '  You  know,  Doctor,  that  it  is  among  the  Eights  of 
these  Nobles  to  harness  us  common  dogs  to  carts,  and  drive 
us.  They  so  harnessed  him  and  drove  him.  You  know 
that  it  is  among  their  Eights  to  keep  us  in  their  grounds  all 
night,  quieting  the  frogs,  in  order  that  their  noble  sleep 
may  not  be  disturbed.  They  kept  him  out  in  the  unwhole- 
some mists  at  night,  and  ordered  him  back  into  his  harness 
in  the  day.  But  he  was  not  persuaded.  No !  Taken  out 
of  harness  one  day  at  noon,  to  feed  —  if  he  could  find  food 
—  he  sobbed  twelve  times,  once  for  every  stroke  of  the  bell, 
and  died  on  her  bosom.' 

"  Nothing  human  could  have  held  life  in  the  boy  but  his 
determination  to  tell  all  his  wrong.  He  forced  back  the 
gathering  shadows  of  death,  as  he  forced  his  clenched  right 
hand  to  remain  clenched,  and  to  cover  his  wound. 

" '  Then,  with  that  man's  permission  and  even  with  his 
aid,  his  brother  took  her  away;  in  spite  of  what  I  know 
she  must  have  told  his  brother  —  and  what  that  is,  will  not 
be  long  unknown  to  you,  Doctor,  if  it  is  now  —  his  brother 
took  her  away  —  for  his  pleasure  and  diversion,  for  a  little 
while.  I  saw  her  pass  me  on  the  road.  When  I  took  the 
tidings  home,  our  father's  heart  burst;  he  never  spoke  one 
of  the  words  that  filled  it.  I  took  my  young  sister  (for  I 
have  another)  to  a  place  beyond  the  reach  of  this  man,  and 
where,  at  least,  she  will  never  be  his  vassal.  Then,  I 
tracked  the  brother  here,  and  last  night  climbed  in  —  a 
common  dog,  but  sword  in  hand.  —  Where  is  the  loft  win- 
dow?    It  was  somewhere  here?' 

"The  room  was  darkening  to  his  sight;  the  world  was 
narrowing  around  him.  I  glanced  about  me,  and  saw  that 
the  hay  and  straw  were  trampled  over  the  floor,  as  if  there 
had  been  a  struggle. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  387 

""She  heard  nie,  and  ran  in.  I  told  her  not  to  come  neai 
us  till  he  was  dead.  He  came  in  and  first  tossed  me  some 
pieces  of  money;  then  struck  at  me  with  a  whip.  But  I, 
though  a  common  dog,  so  struck  at  him  as  to  make  him 
draw.  Let  him  break  into  as  many  pieces  as  he  will,  the 
sword  that  he  stained  with  my  common  blood;  he  drew  to 
defend  himself  —  thrust  at  me  with  all  his  skill  for  his  life. ' 

"  My  glance  had  fallen,  but  a  few  moments  before,  on  the 
fragments  of  a  broken  sword,  lying  among  the  hay.  That 
weapon  was  a  gentleman's.  In  another  place,  lay  an  old 
sword  that  seemed  to  have  been  a  soldier's. 

"'  Now,  lift  me  up,  Doctor;  lift  me  up.     Where  is  he?' 

"  *  He  is  not  here, '  I  said,  supporting  the  boy,  and  think- 
ing that  he  referred  to  the  brother. 

"'He!  Proud  as  these  nobles  are,  he  is  afraid  to  see  me. 
"Where  is  the  man  who  was  here?     Turn  my  face  to  him.' 

"I  did  so,  raising  the  boy's  head  against  my  knee.  But, 
invested  for  the  moment  with  extraordinary  power,  he 
raised  himself  completely:  obliging  me  to  rise  too,  or  I 
could  not  have  still  supported  him. 

" '  Marquis, '  said  the  boy,  turned  to  him  with  his  eyes 
opened  wide  and  his  right  hand  raised,  'in  the  days  when 
all  these  things  are  to  be  answered  for,  I  summon  you,  and 
yours  to  the  last  of  your  bad  race,  to  answer  for  them.  I 
mark  this  cross  of  blood  upon  you,  as  a  sign  that  I  do  it. 
In  the  days  when  all  these  things  are  to  be  answered  for.  I 
summon  your  brother,  the  worst  of  the  bad  race,  to  answer 
for  them  separately.  I  mark  this  cross  of  blood  upon  him, 
as  a  sign  that  I  do  it.' 

"  Twice,  he  put  his  hand  to  the  wound  in  his  breast,  and 
with  his  forefinger  drew  a  cross  in  the  air.  He  stood  for 
an  instant  with  the  finger  yet  raised,  and,  as  it  dropped,  he 
dropped  with  it,  and  I  laid  him  down  dead.   .   .   . 

"  When  I  returned  to  the  bedside  of  the  young  woman,  I 


388  A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES. 

found  her  raving  in  precisely  the  same  order  and  continuity. 
I  knew  that  this  might  last  for  many  hours,  and  that  it 
would  probably  end  in  the  silence  of  the  grave. 

"  I  repeated  the  medicines  I  had  given  her,  and  I  sat  at 
the  side  of  the  bed  until  the  night  was  far  advanced.  She 
never  abated  the  piercing  quality  of  her  shrieks,  never 
stumbled  in  the  distinctness  or  the  order  of  her  words. 
They  were  always  'My  husband,  my  father,  and  my  brother! 
One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten, 
eleven,  twelve.     Hush!  ' 

"  This  lasted  twenty-six  hours  from  the  time  when  I  first 
saw  her.  I  had  come  and  gone  twice,  and  was  again  sitting 
by  her,  when  she  began  to  falter.  I  did  what  little  could  be 
done  to  assist  that  opportunity,  and  by-and-by  she  sank  into 
a  lethargy,  and  lay  like  the  dead. 

"  It  was  as  if  the  wind  and  rain  had  lulled  at  last,  after 
a  long  and  fearful  storm.  I  released  her  arms,  and  called 
the  woman  to  assist  me  to  compose  her  figure  and  the  dress 
she  had  torn.  It  was  then  that  I  knew  her  condition  to  be 
that  of  one  in  whom  the  first  expectations  of  being  a  mother 
have  arisen;  and  it  was  then  that  I  lost  the  little  hope  I 
had  had  of  her. 

" '  Is  she  dead? '  asked  the  Marquis,  whom  I  will  still 
describe  as  the  elder  brother,  coining  booted  into  the  room 
from  his  horse. 

Not  dead,'  said  I;  '  but  like  to  die.' 
What  strength  there  is  in  these  common  bodies ! J  he 
said,  looking  down  at  her  with  some  curiosity. 

"'There  is  prodigious  strength,'  I  answered  him,  'in 
sorrow  and  despair.' 

"He  first  laughed  at  my  words,  and  then  frowned  at 
them.  He  moved  a  chair  with  his  foot  near  to  mine, 
ordered  the  woman  away,  and  said,  in  a  subdued  voice, 

Doctor,    finding    my    brother  in    this    difficulty  with 


a  i 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  389 

these  hinds,  I  recommended  that  your  aid  should  be  invited. 
Your  reputation  is  high,  and,  as  a  young  man  with  your 
fortune  to  make,  you  are  probably  mindful  of  your  interest. 
The  things  that  you  see  here,  are  things  to  be  seen,  and  not 
spoken  of.' 

"  I  listened  to  the  patient's  breathing,  and  avoided  answer- 


«  c 

a  i 


Do  you  honour  me  with  your  attention,  Doctor? ' 
Monsieur,'  said  I,  'in  my  profession,  the  communica- 
tions of  patients  are  always  received  in  confidence.'     I  was 
guarded  in  my  answer,  for  I  was  troubled  in  my  mind  by 
what  I  had  heard  and  seen. 

"  Her  breathing  was  so  difficult  to  trace,  that  I  carefully 
tried  the  pulse  and  the  heart.  There  was  life,  and  no  more. 
Looking  round  as  I  resumed  my  seat,  I  found  both  the 
brothers  intent  upon  me.   .   .   . 

"  I  write  with  so  much  difficulty,  the  cold  is  so  severe,  I 
am  so  fearful  of  being  detected  and  consigned  to  an  under- 
ground cell  and  total  darkness,  that  I  must  abridge  this 
narrative.  There  is  no  confusion  or  failure  in  my  memory; 
it  can  recall,  and  could  detail,  every  word  that  was  ever 
spoken  between  me  and  those  brothers. 

"She  lingered  for  a  week.  Towards  the  last,  I  could 
understand  some  few  syllables  that  she  said  to  me,  by  plac- 
ing my  ear  close  to  her  lips.  She  asked  me  where  she  was, 
and  I  told  her;  who  I  was,  and  I  told  her.  It  was  in  vain 
that  I  asked  her  for  her  family  name.  She  faintly  shook 
her  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  kept  her  secret,  as  the  boy 
had  done. 

"I  had  no  opportunity  of  asking  her  any  question,  until 
I  had  told  the  brothers  she  was  sinking  fast,  and  could  not 
live  another  day.  Until  then,  though  no  one  was  ever 
presented  to  her  consciousness  save  the  woman  and  myself, 
one  or  other  of  them  had  always  jealously  R^t  behind  the 


390  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

curtain  at  the  head  of  the  bed  when  I  was  there.  But  when 
it  came  to  that,  they  seemed  careless  what  communication 
I  might  hold  with  her ;  as  if  —  the  thought  passed  through 
my  mind  —  I  were  dying  too. 

"I  always  observed  that  their  pride  bitterly  resented  the 
younger  brother's  (as  I  call  him)  having  crossed  swords 
with  a  peasant,  and  that  peasant  a  boy.  The  only  consid- 
eration that  appeared  really  to  affect  the  mind  of  either  of 
them,  was  the  consideration  that  this  was  highly  degrading 
to  the  family,  and  was  ridiculous.  As  often  as  I  caught 
the  younger  brother's  eyes,  their  expression  reminded  me 
that  he  disliked  me  deeply,  for  knowing  what  I  knew  from 
the  boy.  He  was  smoother  and  more  polite  to  me  than  the 
elder;  but  I  saw  this.  I  also  saw  that  I  was  an  encum- 
brance in  the  mind  of  the  elder  too. 

"  My  patient  died,  two  hours  before  midnight  —  at  a 
time,  by  my  watch,  answering  almost  to  the  minute  when 
I  had  first  seen  her.  I  was  alone  with  her,  when  her  for- 
lorn young  head  drooped  gently  on  one  side,  and  all  her 
earthly  wrongs  and  sorrows  ended. 

"The  brothers  were  waiting  in  a  room  down-stairs,  im- 
patient to  ride  away.  I  had  heard  them,  alone  at  the  bed- 
side, striking  their  boots  with  their  riding-whips,  and 
loitering  up  and  down. 

" '  At  last  she  is  dead? '  said  the  elder,  when  I  went  in. 

" '  She  is  dead, '  said  I. 

" '  I  congratulate  you,  my  brother, '  were  his  words  as  he 
turned  round. 

"He  had  before  offered  me  money,  which  I  had  post- 
poned taking.  He  now  gave  me  a  rouleau  of  gold.  I  took 
it  from  his  hand,  but  laid  it  on  the  table.  I  had  considered 
the  question,  and  had  resolved  to  accept  nothing. 

" '  Pray  excuse  me, '  said  I.    '  Under  the  circumstances,  no. y 

"  They  exchanged  looks,  but  bent  their  heads  to  me  as  I 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  391 

6ent  mine  to  them,  and  we  parted  without  another  word  on 
either  side.    .   .   . 

"  I  am  weary,  weary,  weary  —  worn  down  by  misery.  I 
cannot  read  what  I  have  written  with  this  gaunt  hand. 

"Early  in  the  morning,  the  rouleau  of  gold  was  left  at 
my  door  in  a  little  box,  with  my  name  on  the  outside. 
From  the  first,  I  had  anxiously  considered  what  I  ought  to 
do.  I  decided,  that  day,  to  write  privately  to  the  Minis- 
ter, stating  the  nature  of  the  two  cases  to  which  I  had  been 
summoned,  and  the  place  to  which  I  had  gone :  in  effect, 
stating  all  the  circumstances.  I  knew  what  Court  influ- 
ence was,  and  what  the  immunities  of  the  Nobles  were,  and 
I  expected  that  the  matter  would  never  be  heard  of;  but,  I 
wished  to  relieve  my  own  mind.  I  had  kept  the  matter  a 
profound  secret,  even  from  my  wife;  and  this,  too,  I  re- 
solved to  state  in  my  letter.  I  had  no  apprehension  what- 
ever of  my  real  danger;  but,  I  was  conscious  that  there 
might  be  danger  for  others,  if  others  were  compromised 
by  possessing  the  knowledge  that  I  possessed. 

"  I  was  much  engaged  that  day,  and  could  not  complete 
my  letter  that  night.  I  rose  long  before  my  usual  time 
next  morning  to  finish  it.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  year. 
The  letter  was  lying  before  me  just  completed,  when  I  was 
told  that  a  lady  waited,  who  wished  to  see  me.  .   .   . 

"  I  am  growing  more  and  more  unequal  to  the  task  I  have 
set  myself.  It  is  so  cold,  so  dark,  my  senses  are  so  be- 
numbed, and  the  gloom  upon  me  is  so  dreadful. 

"The  lady  was  young,  engaging,  and  handsome,  but  not 
marked  for  long  life.  She  was  in  great  agitation.  She 
presented  herself  to  me,  as  the  wife  of  the  Marquis  St. 
Evremonde.  I  connected  the  title  by  which  the  boy  had 
addressed  the  elder  brother,  with  the  initial  letter  embroid- 
ered on  the  scarf,  and,  had  no  difficulty  in  arriving  at  the 
conclusion  that  I  had  seen  that  nobleman  very  lately. 


392  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"My  memory  is  still  accurate,  but  I  cannot  write  the 
words  of  our  conversation.  I  suspect  that  I  am  watched 
more  closely  than  I  was,  and  I  know  not  at  what  times  I 
may  be  watched.  She  had  in  part  suspected,  and  in  part 
discovered,  the  main  facts  of  the  cruel  story,  of  her  hus- 
band's share  in  it,  and  my  being  resorted  to.  She  did  not 
know  that  the  girl  was  dead.  Her  hope  had  been,  she  said 
in  great  distress,  to  show  her,  in  secret,  a  woman's  sympa- 
thy. Her  hope  had  been  to  avert  the  wrath  of  Heaven 
from  a  House  that  had  long  been  hateful  to  the  suffering 
many. 

"  She  had  reasons  for  believing  that  there  was  a  young 
sister  living,  and  her  greatest  desire  was,  to  help  that  sis- 
ter. I  could  tell  her  nothing  but  that  there  was  such  a 
sister;  beyond  that,  I  knew  nothing.  Her  inducement  to 
come  to  me,  relying  on  my  confidence,  had  been  the  hope  that 
I  could  tell  her  the  name  and  place  of  abode.  Whereas, 
to  this  wretched  hour  I  am  ignorant  of  both.   .   .   . 

"These  scraps  of  paper  fail  me.  One  was  taken  from 
me,  with  a  warning,  yesterday.  I  must  finish  my  record 
to-day. 

"  She  was  a  good,  compassionate  lady,  and  not  happy  in 
her  marriage.  How  could  she  be !  The  brother  distrusted 
and  disliked  her,  and  his  influence  was  all  opposed  to  her; 
she  stood  in  dread  of  him,  and  in  dread  of  her  husband  too. 
When  I  handed  her  down  to  the  door,  there  was  a  child,  a 
pretty  boy  from  two  to  three  years  old,  in  her  carriage. 

" '  For  his  sake,  Doctor, '  she  said,  pointing  to  him  in 
cears,  '  I  would  do  all  I  can  to  make  what  poor  amends  I 
can.  He  will  never  prosper  in  his  inheritance  otherwise. 
I  have  a  presentiment  that  if  no  other  innocent  atonement 
is  made  for  this,  it  will  one  day  be  required  of  him.  What 
I  have  left  to  call  my  own  —  it  is  little  beyond  the  worth 
of  a  few  jewels  —  I  will  make  it  the  first  charge  of  his  life 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  393 

to  bestow,  with  the  compassion  and  lamenting  of  his  dead 
mother,  on  this  injured  family,  if  the  sister  can  be  dis- 
covered.' 

"She  kissed  the  boy,  and  said,  caressing  him,  'It  is 
for  thine  own  dear  sake.  Thou  wilt  be  faithful,  little 
Charles ?  '  The  child  answered  her  bravely,  'Yes ! '  I  kissed 
her  hand,  and  she  took  him  in  her  arms,  and  went  away 
caressing  him.     I  never  saw  her  more. 

"As  she  had  mentioned  her  husband's  name  in  the  faith 
that  I  knew  it,  I  added  no  mention  of  it  to  my  letter.  I 
sealed  my  letter,  and,  not  trusting  it  out  of  my  own  hands, 
delivered  it  myself  that  day. 

"That  night,  the  last  night  of  the  year,  towards  nine 
o'clock,  a  man  in  a  black  dress  rang  at  my  gate,  demanded 
to  see  me,  and  softly  followed  my  servant,  Ernest  Defarge, 
a  youth,  up-stairs.  When  my  servant  came  into  the  room 
where  I  sat  with  my  wife  —  0  my  wife,  beloved  of  my 
heart!  My  fair  young  English  wife! — we  saw  the  man, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  at  the  gate,  standing  silent  behind 
him. 

"An  urgent  case  in  the  Eue  St.  Honore,  he  said.  It 
would  not  detain  me,  he  had  a  coach  in  waiting. 

"  It  brought  me  here,  it  brought  me  to  my  grave.  When 
I  was  clear  of  the  house,  a  black  muffler  was  drawn  tightly 
over  my  mouth  from  behind,  and  my  arms  were  pinioned. 
The  two  brothers  crossed  the  road  from  a  dark  corner,  and 
identified  me  with  a  single  gesture.  The  Marquis  took 
from  his  pocket  the  letter  1  had  written,  showed  it  me, 
burnt  it  in  the  light  of  a  lantern  that  was  held,  and  extin- 
guished the  ashes  with  his  foot.  Not  a  word  was  spoken. 
I  was  brought  here,  I  was  brought  to  my  living  grave. 

"If  it  had  pleased  God  to  put  it  in  the  hard  heart  of 
either  of  the  brothers.;  in  all  these  frightful  years,  to  grant 
me  any  tidings  of  my  dearest  wife  —  so  much  as  to  let  me 


394  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

know  by  a  word  whether  alive  or  dead  —  I  might  have 
thought  that  He  had  not  quite  abandoned  them.  But,  now 
I  believe  that  the  mark  of  the  red  cross  is  fatal  to  them, 
and  that  they  have  no  part  in  His  mercies.  And  them  and 
their  descendants,  to  the  last  of  their  race,  I  Alexandre 
Manette,  unhappy  prisoner,  do  this  last  night  of  the  year 
1767,  in  my  unbearable  agony,  denounce  to  the  times  when 
all  these  things  shall  be  answered  for.  I  denounce  them 
to  Heaven  and  to  earth." 

A  terrible  sound  arose  when  the  reading  of  this  docu- 
ment was  done.  A  sound  of  craving  and  eagerness  that 
had  nothing  articulate  in  it  but  blood.  The  narrative 
called  up  the  most  revengeful  passions  of  the  time,  and 
there  was  not  a  head  in  the  nation  but  must  have  dropped 
before  it. 

Little  need,  in  presence  of  that  tribunal  and  that  audi- 
tory, to  show  how  the  Defarges  had  not  made  the  paper 
public,  with  the  other  captured  Bastille  memorials  borne 
in  procession,  and  had  kept  it,  biding  their  time.  Little 
need  to  show  that  this  detested  family  name  had  long  been 
anathematised  by  Saint  Antoine,  and  was  wrought  into  the 
fatal  register.  The  man  never  trod  ground,  whose  virtues 
and  services  would  have  sustained  him  in  that  place  that 
day,  against  such  denunciation. 

And  all  the  worse  for  the  doomed  man,  that  the  de- 
nouncer was  a  well-known  citizen,  his  own  attached  friend, 
the  father  of  his  wife.  One  of  the  frenzied  aspirations  of 
the  populace  was,  for  imitations  of  the  questionable  public 
virtues  of  antiquity,  and  for  sacrifices  and  self-immolations 
on  the  people's  altar.  Therefore,  when  the  President  said 
(else  had  his  own  head  quivered  on  his  shoulders),  that 
the  good  physician  of  the  Republic  would  deserve  better 
still  of  the  Republic  by  rooting  out  an  obnoxious  family  of 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  395 

Aristocrats,  and  would  doubtless  feel  a  sacred  glow  and 
joy  in  making  his  daughter  a  widow  and  her  child  an 
orphan,  there  was  wild  excitement,  patriotic  fervour,  not 
a  touch  of  human  sympathy. 

"Much  influence  around  him,  has  that  Doctor? ';  mur- 
mured Madame  Defarge,  smiling  to  The  Vengeance.  "  Save 
him  now,  my  Doctor,  save  him ! " 

At  every  juryman's  vote,  there  was  a  roar.  Another  and 
another.     Roar  and  roar. 

Unanimously  voted.  At  heart  and  by  descent  an  Aristo- 
crat, an  enemy  of  the  Republic,  a  notorious  oppressor  of 
the  People.  Back  to  the  Conciergerie,  and  Death  within 
four-and-twenty  hours ! 


CHAPTER   XI. 

DUSK. 


The  wretched  wife  of  the  innocent  man  thus  doomed  to 
die,  fell  under  the  sentence,  as  if  she  had  been  mortally 
stricken.  But,  she  uttered  no  sound;  and  so  strong  was 
the  voice  within  her,  representing  that  it  was  she  of  all  the 
world  who  must  uphold  him  in  his  misery  and  not  augment 
it,  that  it  quickly  raised  her,  even  from  that  shock. 

The  judges  having  to  take  part  in  a  public  demonstration 
out  of  doors,  the  tribunal  adjourned.  The  quick  noise  and 
movement  of  the  court's  emptying  itself  by  many  passages 
had  not  ceased,  when  Lucie  stood  stretching  out  her  arms 
towards  her  husband,  with  nothing  in  her  face  but  love  and 
consolation. 

"If  I  might  touch  him!  If  I  might  embrace  him  once! 
0,  good  citizens,  if  you  would  have  so  much  compassion 
for  us ! " 


396  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

There  was  but  a  gaoler  left,  along  with  two  of  the  four 
men  who  had  taken  him  last  night,  and  Barsad.  The 
people  had  all  poured  out  to  the  show  in  the  streets.  Bar- 
sad  proposed  to  the  rest,  "  Let  her  embrace  him,  then ;  it  is 
but  a  moment."  It  was  silently  acquiesced  in,  and  they 
passed  her  over  the  seats  in  the  hall  to  a  raised  place, 
where  he,  by  leaning  over  the  dock,  could  fold  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Farewell,  dear  darling  of  my  soul.  My  parting  bless- 
ing on  my  love.  We  shall  meet  again,  where  the  weary 
are  at  rest !  " 

They  were  her  husband's  words,  as  he  held  her  to  his 
bosom. 

.  "I  can  bear  it,  dear  Charles.  I  am  supported  from 
above;  don't  suffer  for  me.  A  parting  blessing  for  our 
child." 

"I  send  it  to  her  by  you.  I  kiss  her  by  you.  I  say 
farewell  to  her  by  you." 

"  My  husband.  No !  A  moment ! "  He  was  tearing 
himself  apart  from  her.  "We  shall  not  be  separated  long. 
I  feel  that  this  will  break  my  heart  by-and-by;  but  I  will 
do  my  duty  while  I  can,  and  when  I  leave  her,  God  will 
raise  up  friends  for  her,  as  He  did  for  me." 

Her  father  had  followed  her,  and  would  have  fallen  on 
his  knees  to  both  of  them,  but  that  Darnay  put  out  a  hand 
and  seized  him,  crying : 

"No,  no!  What  have  you  done,  what  have  you  done, 
that  you  should  kneel  to  us !  We  know  now,  what  a  strug- 
gle you  made  of  old.  We  know  now,  what  you  underwent 
when  you  suspected  my  descent,  and  when  you  knew  it. 
We  know  now,  the  natural  antipathy  you  strove  against, 
and  conquered,  for  her  dear  sake.  We  thank  you  with  all 
our  hearts,  and  all  our  love  and  duty.  Heaven  be  with 
you ! " 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  397 

Her  father's  only  answer  was  to  draw  his  hands  through 
his  white  hair,  and  wring  them  with  a  shriek  of  anguish. 

"It  could  not  be  otherwise,"  said  the  prisoner.  "All 
things  have  worked  together  as  they  have  fallen  out.  It 
was  the  always-vain  endeavour  to  discharge  my  poor 
mother's  trust,  that  first  brought  my  fatal  presence  near 
you.  Good  could  never  come  of  such  evil,  a  happier  end 
was  not  in  nature  to  so  unhappy  a  beginning.  Be  com- 
forted, and  forgive  me.     Heaven  bless  you!  " 

As  he  was  drawn  away,  his  wife  released  him,  and  stood 
looking  after  him  with  her  hands  touching  one  another  in 
the  attitude  of  prayer,  and  with  a  radiant  look  upon  her 
face,  in  which  there  was  even  a  comforting  smile.  As  he 
went  out  at  the  prisoners'  door,  she  turned,  laid  her  head 
lovingly  on  her  father's  breast,  tried  to  speak  to  him,  and 
fell  at  his  feet. 

Then,  issuing  from  the  obscure  corner  from  which  he 
had  never  moved,  Sydney  Carton  came  and  took  her  up. 
Only  her  father  and  Mr.  Lorry  were  with  her.  His  arm 
trembled  as  it  raised  her,  and  supported  her  head.  Yet, 
there  was  an  air  about  him  that  was  not  all  of  pity  —  that 
had  a  flush  of  pride  in  it. 

"  Shall  I  take  her  to  a  coach?  I  shall  never  feel  her 
weight?" 

He  carried  her  lightly  to  the  door,  and  laid  her  tenderly 
down  in  a  coach.  Her  father  and  their  old  friend  got  into 
it,  and  he  took  his  seat  beside  the  driver. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  gateway  where  he  had  paused 
in  the  dark  not  many  hours  before,  to  picture  to  himself 
on  which  of  the  rough  stones  of  the  street  her  feet  had 
trodden,  he  lifted  her  again,  and  carried  her  up  the  stair- 
case to  their  rooms.  There,  he  laid  her  down  on  a  couch, 
where  her  child  and  Miss  Pross  wept  over  her. 

"Don't  recall  her  to  herself,"  he  said,  softly,  to  the  latter, 


398  A   TALE   OF    TWO    CITIES. 

"she  is  better  so;  don't  revive  her  to  consciousness,  while 
she  only  faints." 

"  Oh,  Carton,  Carton,  dear  Carton ! "  cried  little  Lucie, 
springing  up  and  throwing  her  arms  passionately  round 
him,  in  a  burst  of  grief.  "Now  that  you  have  come,  I 
think  you  will  do  something  to  help  mamma,  something  to 
save  papa!  0,  look  at  her,  dear  Carton!  Can  you,  of  all 
the  people  who  love  her,  bear  to  see  her  so?" 

He  bent  over  the  child,  and  laid  her  blooming  cheek 
against  his  face.  He  put  her  gently  from  him,  and  looked 
at  her  unconscious  mother. 

"Before  I  go,"  he  said,  and  paused. — "I  may  kiss 
her?" 

It  was  remembered  afterwards  that  when  he  bent  down 
and  touched  her  face  with  his  lips,  he  murmured  some 
words.  The  child,  who  was  nearest  to  him,  told  them 
afterwards,  and  told  her  grandchildren  when  she  was  a 
handsome  old  lady,  that  she  heard  him  say,  "A  life  you 
love." 

When  he  had  gone  out  into  the  next  room,  he  turned  sud- 
denly on  Mr.  Lorry  and  her  father,  who  were  following, 
and  said  to  the  latter : 

"  You  had  great  influence  but  yesterday,  Doctor  Manette ; 
let  it,  at  least,  be  tried.  These  judges,  and  all  the  men  in 
power,  are  very  friendly  to  you,  and  very  recognisant  of 
your  services;  are  they  not?" 

"Nothing  connected  with  Charles  was  concealed  from 
me.  I  had  the  strongest  assurances  that  I  should  save  him; 
and  I  did."  He  returned  the  answer  in  great  trouble,  and 
very  slowly. 

"Try  them  again.  The  hours  between  this  and  to- 
morrow afternoon  are  few  and  short,  but  try." 

"I  intend  to  trv.     I  will  not  rest  a  moment." 

"That's  well.     I  have  known  such  energy  as  yours  do 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  399 

great  things  before  now  —  though  never,"  he  added,  with  a 
smile  and  a  sigh  together,  "such  great  things  as  this.  But 
try!  Of  little  worth  as  life  is  when  we  misuse  it,  it  is 
worth  that  effort.  It  would  cost  nothing  to  lay  down  if  it 
were  not." 

"  I  will  go, "  said  Doctor  Manette,  "  to  the  Prosecutor  and 
the  President  straight,  and  I  will  go  to  others  whom  it  is 

better  not  to  name.     I  will  write  too,  and But  stay! 

There  is  a  celebration  in  the  streets,  and  no  one  will  be 
accessible  until  dark." 

"That's  true.  Well!  It  is  a  forlorn  hope  at  the  best, 
and  not  much  the  forlorner  for  being  delayed  till  dark.  I 
should  like  to  know  how  you  speed;  though,  mind!  I  ex- 
pect nothing!  When  are  you  likely  to  have  seen  these 
dread  powers,  Doctor  Manette?" 

"Immediately  after  dark,  I  should  hope.  Within  an 
hour  or  two  from  this." 

"It  will  be  dark  soon  after  four.  Let  us  stretch  the 
hour  or  two.  If  I  go  to  Mr.  Lorry's  at  nine,  shall  I  hear 
what  you  have  done  either  from  our  friend  or  from  your- 
self?" 

"Yes." 

"  May  you  prosper !  " 

Mr.  Lorry  followed  Sydney  to  the  outer  door,  and,  touch- 
ing him  on  the  shoulder  as  he  was  going  away,  caused  him 
to  turn. 

"I  have  no  hope,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  in  a  low  and  sorrow- 
ful whisper. 

"Nor  have  I." 

"  If  any  one  of  these  men,  or  all  of  these  men.  were  dis- 
posed to  spare  him  —  which  is  a  large  supposition;  for 
what  is  his  life,  or  any  man's  to  them!  —  I  doubt  if  they 
durst  spare  him  after  the  demonstration  in  the  court." 

"  And  so  do  I.     I  heard  the  fall  of  the  axe  in  that  sound." 


400  A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES. 

Mr.  Lorry  leaned  his  arm  upon  the  door-post,  and  bowed 
his  face  upon  it. 

"Don't  despond/'  said  Carton,  very  gently;  "don't  grieve. 
I  encouraged  Doctor  Manette  in  this  idea,  because  I  felt 
that  it  might  one  day  be  consolatory  to  her.  Otherwise, 
she  might  think  'his  life  was  wantonly  thrown  away  or 
wasted,'  and  that  might  trouble  her." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  returned  Mr.  Lorry,  drying  his  eyes, 
"you  are  right.     But  he  will  perish;  there  is  no  real  hope." 

"Yes.  He  will  perish;  there  is  no  real  hope,"  echoed 
Carton.     And  walked  with  a  settled  step,  down-stairs. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

DARKNESS. 


Sydney  Carton  paused  in  the  street,  not  quite  decided 
where  to  go.  "At  Teilson's  banking-house  at  nine,"  he 
said,  with  a  musing  face.  "  Shall  I  do  well,  in  the  mean 
time,  to  show  myself?  I  think  so.  It  is  best  that  these 
people  shuuld  know  there  is  such  a  man  as  I  here;  it  is  a 
sound  precaution,  and  may  be  a  necessary  preparation.  But 
care,  care,  care !     Let  me  think  it  out !  " 

Checking  his  steps  which  had  begun  to  tend  towards  an 
object,  he  took  a  turn  or  two  in  the  already  darkening 
street,  and  traced  the  thought  in  his  mind  to  its  possible 
consequences.  His  first  impression  was  confirmed.  "It  is 
best,"  he  said,  finally  resolved,  "that  these  people  should 
know  there  is  such  a  man  as  I  here."  And  he  turned  his 
face  towards  Saint  Antoine. 

Defarge  had  described  himself,  that  day,  as  the  keeper  of 
a  wine-shop  in  the  Saint  Antoine  suburb.  It  was  not  diffi- 
cult for  one  who  knew  the  city  well,  to  find  his  house  with- 


A   TALE   OF    TWO   CITIES.  401 

out  asking  any  question.  Having  ascertained  its  situation, 
Carton  came  out  of  those  closer  streets  again,  and  dined  at 
a  place  of  refreshment  and  fell  sound  asleep  after  dinner. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  years,  he  had  no  strong  drink. 
Since  last  night  he  had  taken  nothing  but  a  little  light 
thin  wine,  and  last  night  he  had  dropped  the  brandy  slowly 
down  on  Mr.  Lorry's  hearth  like  a  man  who  had  done 
with  it. 

It  was  as  late  as  seven  o'clock  when  he  awoke  refreshed, 
and  went  out  into  the  streets  again.  As  he  passed  along 
towards  Saint  Antoine,  he  stopped  at  a  shop-window  where 
there  was  a  mirror,  and  slightly  altered  the  disordered 
arrangement  of  his  loose  cravat,  and  his  coat-collar,  and  his 
wild  hair.  This  done,  he  went  on  direct  to  Defarge's,  and 
went  in. 

There  happened  to  be  no  customer  in  the  shop  but  Jacques 
Three,  of  the  restless  fingers  and  the  croaking  voice.  This 
man  whom  he  had  seen  upon  the  Jury,  stood  drinking  at 
the  little  counter,  in  conversation  with  the  Defarges,  man 
and  wife.  The  Vengeance  assisted  in  the  conversation,  like 
a  regular  member  of  the  establishment. 

As  Carton  walked  in,  took  his  seat,  and  asked  (in  very 
indifferent  French)  for  a  small  measure  of  wine,  Madame 
Defarge  cast  a  careless  glance  at  him,  and  then  a  keener, 
and  then  a  keener,  and  then  advanced  to  him  herself,  and 
asked  him  what  it  was  he  had  ordered. 

He  repeated  what  he  had  already  said. 

"  English? ';  asked  Madame  Defarge,  inquisitively  rais- 
ing her  dark  eyebrows. 

After  looking  at  her,  as  if  the  sound  of  even  a  single 
French  word  Avere  slow  to  express  itself  to  him,  he  answered, 
in  his  former  strong  foreign  accent.     "Yes,  madame,  yes.. 
I  am  English !  " 

Madame  Defarge  returned  to  her  counter  to  get  the  wine, 

2  D 


402  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

and,  as  lie  took  up  a  Jacobin  journal  and  feigned  to  pore 
over  it  puzzling  out  its  meaning,  he  heard  her  say,  "  I  swear 
to  you,  like  Evremonde !  " 

Defarge  brought  him  the  wine,  and  gave  him  Good 
Evening. 

"How?" 

"  Good  evening. 

"Oh!  Good  evening,  citizen,"  filling  his  glass.  "Ah! 
and  good  wine.     I  drink  to  the  Republic." 

Defarge  went  back  to  the  counter,  and  said,  "  Certainly, 
a  little  like."  Madame  sternly  retorted,  "I  tell  you  a  good 
deal  like."  Jacques  Three  pacifically  remarked,  "He  is  so 
much  in  your  mind,  see  you,  madame."  The  amiable  Ven- 
geance added,  with  a  laugh,  "  Yes,  my  faith !  And  you  are 
looking  forward  with  so  much  pleasure  to  seeing  him  once 
more  to-morrow !  " 

Carton  followed  the  lines  and  words  of  his  paper,  with 
a  slow  forefinger,  and  with  a  studious  and  absorbed  face. 
They  were  all  leaning  their  arms  on  the  counter  close 
together,  speaking  low.  After  a  silence  of  a  few  moments, 
during  which  they  all  looked  towards  him  without  disturb- 
ing his  outward  attention  from  the  Jacobin  editor,  they 
resumed  their  conversation. 

"It  is  true  what  madame  says,"  observed  Jacques  Three. 
"Why,  stop?     There  is  great  force  in  that.     Why  stop?" 

"Well,  well,"  reasoned  Defarge,  "but  one  must  stop 
somewhere.     After  all,  the  question  is  still  where?" 

"At  extermination,"  said  madame. 

"  Magnificent !  "  croaked  Jacques  Three.  The  Vengeance, 
also,  highly  approved. 

"  Extermination  is  good  doctrine,  my  wife, "  said  Defarge, 
rather  troubled ;  "in  general,  I  say  nothing  against  it.  But 
this  Doctor  has  suffered  much ;  you  have  seen  him  to-day ; 
you  have  observed  his  face  when  the  paper  was  read." 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  403 

"  I  have  observed  his  face ! "  repeated  madame,  con- 
temptuously and  angrily.  "  Yes,  I  have  observed  his  face. 
I  have  observed  his  face  to  be  not  the  face  of  a  true  friend 
of  the  Eepublic.     Let  him  take  care  of  his  face ! ': 

"And  you  have  observed,  my  wife,"  said  Defarge,  in  a 
deprecatory  manner,  "the  anguish  of  his  daughter,  which 
must  be  a  dreadful  anguish  to  him !  " 

"I  have  observed  his  daughter,"  repeated  madame;  "yes. 
I  have  observed  his  daughter,  more  times  than  one.  I  have 
observed  her  to-day,  and  I  have  observed  her  other  days. 
I  have  observed  her  in  the  court,  and  I  have  observed  her 

in  the  street  by  the  prison.     Let  me  but  lift  my  finger !  " 

She  seemed  to  raise  it  (the  listener's  eyes  were  always  on 
his  paper),  and  to  let  it  fall  with  a  rattle  on  the  ledge 
before  her,  as  if  the  axe  had  dropped. 

"The  citizeness  is  superb!  "  croaked  the  Juryman. 

"She  is  an  Angel!'  said  The  Vengeance,  and  embraced 
her. 

"As  to  thee,"  pursued  madame,  implacably,  addressing 
her  husband,  "  if  it  depended  on  thee  —  which,  happily,  it 
does  not  —  thou  wouldst  rescue  this  man  even  now." 

"No!"  protested  Defarge.  "Not  if  to  lift  this  glass 
would  do  it!  But  I  would  leave  the  matter  there.  I  say, 
stop  there." 

"See  you  then,  Jacques,"  said  Madame  Defarge,  wrath- 
fully;  "and  see  you,  too,  my  little  Vengeance;  see  you 
both!  Listen!  For  other  crimes  as  tyrants  and  oppres- 
sors, I  have  this  race  a  long  time  on  my  register,  doomed 
to  destruction  and  extermination.  Ask  my  husband  is 
that  so." 

"It  is  so,"  assented  Defarge,  without  being  asked. 

"In  the  beginning  of  the  great  days,  when  the  Bastille 
falls,  he  finds  this  paper  of  to-day,  and  he  brings  it  home, 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  night  when  this  place  is  clear  and 


404  A    TALE    OF    TWO    CITIES. 

shut,  we  read  it,  here  on  this  spot,  by  the  light  of  this 
lamp.     Ask  him,  is  that  so." 

"It  is  so,"  assented  Defarge. 

"  That  night,  I  tell  him,  when  the  paper  is  read  through, 
and  the  lamp  is  burnt  out,  and  the  day  is  gleaming  in  above 
those  shutters  and  between  those  iron  bars,  that  I  have  now 
a  secret  to  communicate.     Ask  him,  is  that  so." 

"It  is  so,"  assented  Defarge  again. 

"  I  communicate  to  him  that  secret.  I  smite  this  bosom 
with  these  two  hands  as  I  smite  it  now,  and  I  tell  him, 
'Defarge,  I  was  brought  up  among  the  fishermen  of  the 
seashore,  and  that  peasant-family  so  injured  by  the  two 
Evr6monde  brothers,  as  that  Bastille  paper  describes,  is  my 
family.  Defarge,  that  sister  of  the  mortally  wounded  boy 
upon  the  ground  was  my  sister,  that  husband  was  my 
sister's  husband,  that  unborn  child  was  their  child,  that 
brother  was  my  brother,  that  father  was  my  father,  those 
dead  are  my  dead,  and  that  summons  to  answer  for  those 
things  descends  to  me!  '     Ask  him,  is  that  so." 

"It  is  so,"  assented  Defarge  once  more. 

"Then  tell  Wind  and  Fire  where  to  stop,"  returned 
ruadame;  "but  don't  tell  me." 

Both  her  hearers  derived  a  horrible  enjoyment  from  the 
deadly  nature  of  her  wrath  —  the  listener  could  feel  how 
white  she  was,  without  seeing  her  —  and  both  highly  com- 
mended it.  Defarge,  a  weak  minority,  interposed  a  few 
words  for  the  memory  of  the  compassionate  wife  of  the 
Marquis;  but,  only  elicited  from  his  own  wife  a  repetition 
of  her  last  reply,  "Tell  the  Wind  and  the  Tire  where  to 
stop ;  not  me !  " 

Customers  entered,  and  the  group  was  broken  up.  The 
English  customer  paid  for  what  he  had  had,  perplexedly 
counted  his  change,  and  asked,  as  a  stranger,  to  be  directed 
towards  the  National  Palace.     Madame  Defarge  took  him 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  405 

to  the  door,  and  put  her  arm  on  his,  in  pointing  out  the 
road.  The  English  customer  was  not  without  his  reflections 
then,  that  it  might  be  a  good  deed  to  seize  that  arm,  lift  it, 
and  strike  under  it  sharp  and  deep. 

But,  he  went  his  way,  and  was  soon  swallowed  up  in  the 
shadow  of  the  prison  wall.  At  the  appointed  hour,  he 
emerged  from  it  to  present  himself  in  Mr.  Lorry's  room 
again,  where  he  found  the  old  gentleman  walking  to  and 
fro  in  restless  anxiety.  He  said  he  had  been  with  Lucie 
until  just  now,  and  had  only  left  her  for  a  few  minutes, 
to  come  and  keep  his  appointment.  Her  father  had  not 
been  seen,  since  he  quitted  the  banking-house  towards  four 
o'clock.  She  had  some  faint  hopes  that  his  mediation 
might  save  Charles,  but  they  were  very  slight.  He  had 
been  more  than  five  hours  gone:  where  could  he  be? 

Mr.  Lorry  waited  until  ten;  but,  Doctor  Manette  not 
returning,  and  he  being  unwilling  to  leave  Lucie  any 
longer,  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  go  back  to  her,  and 
come  to  the  banking-house  again  at  midnight.  In  the  mean 
while,  Carton  would  wait  alone  by  the  fire  for  the  Doctor. 

He  waited  and  waited,  and  the  clock  struck  twelve;  but, 
Doctor  Manette  did  not  come  back.  Mr.  Lorry  returned, 
and  found  no  tidings  of  him,  and  brought  none.  Where 
could  he  be? 

They  were  discussing  this  question,  and  were  almost 
building  up  some  weak  structure  of  hope  on  his  prolonged 
absence,  when  they  heard  him  on  the  stairs.  The  instant 
he  entered  the  room,  it  was  plain  that  all  was  lost. 

Whether  he  had  really  been  to  any  one,  or  whether  he 
had  been  all  that  time  traversing  the  streets,  was  never 
known.  As  he  stood  staring  at  them,  they  asked  him  no 
question,  for  his  face  told  them  everything. 

"I  cannot  find  it,"  said  he,  "and  I  must  have  it.  Where 
is  it?" 


406  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

His  head  and  throat  were  bare,  and,  as  he  spoke  with  a 
helpless  look  straying  all  around,  he  took  his  coat  off,  and 
let  it  drop  on  the  floor. 

"Where  is  my  bench?  I  have  been  looking  every- 
where for  my  bench,  and  I  can't  find  it.  What  have  they 
done  with  my  work?  Time  presses:  I  must  finish  those 
shoes." 

They  looked  at  one  another,  and  their  hearts  died  within 
them. 

"  Come,  come !  "  said  he,  in  a  whimpering  miserable  way ; 
"let  me  get  to  work.     Give  me  my  work." 

Receiving  no  answer,  he  tore  his  hair,  and  beat  his  feet 
upon  the  ground,  like  a  distracted  child. 

"Don't  torture  a  poor  forlorn  wretch,"  he  implored  them, 
with  a  dreadful  cry;  "but  give  me  my  work!  What  is  to 
become  of  us,  if  those  shoes  are  not  done  to-night?" 

Lost,  utterly  lost! 

It  was  so  clearly  beyond  hope,  to  reason  with  him,  or  try 
to  restore  him,  that  —  as  if  by  agreement  —  they  each  put  a 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  soothed  him  to  sit  down  before 
the  fire,  with  a  promise  that  he  should  have  his  work 
presently.  He  sank  into  the  chair,  and  brooded  over  the 
embers,  and  shed  tears.  As  if  all  that  had  happened  since 
the  garret  time  were  a  momentary  fancy,  or  a  dream,  Mr. 
Lorry  saw  him  shrink  into  the  exact  figure  that  Defarge 
had  had  in  keeping. 

Affected,  and  impressed  with  terror  as  they  both  were,  by 
this  spectacle  of  ruin,  it  was  not  a  time  to  yield  to  such 
emotions.  His  lonely  daughter,  bereft  of  her  final  hope  and 
reliance,  appealed  to  them  both,  too  strongly.  Again,  as 
if  by  agreement,  they  looked  at  one  another  with  one 
meaning  in  their  faces.     Carton  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"The  last  chance  is  gone:  it  was  not  much.  Yes;  he 
had  better  be  taken  to  her.     But,  before  you  go,  will  you, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  407 

for  a  moment,  steadily  attend  to  me?  Don't  ask  me  why  I 
make  the  stipulations  I  am  going  to  make,  and  exact  the 
promise  I  am  going  to  exact;  I  have  a  reason  —  a  good 
one." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,"  answered  Mr.  Lorry.     "  Say  on." 

The  figure  in  the  chair  between  them,  was  all  the  time 
monotonously  rocking  itself  to  and  fro,  and  moaning.  They 
spoke  in  such  a  tone  as  they  would  have  used  if  they  had 
been  watching  by  a  sick-bed  in  the  night. 

Carton  stooped  to  pick  up  the  coat,  which  lay  almost 
entangling  his  feet.  As  he  did  so,  a  small  case  in  which 
the  Doctor  was  accustomed  to  carry  the  list  of  his  day's 
duties,  fell  lightly  on  the  floor.  Carton  took  it  up,  and 
there  was  a  folded  paper  in  it.  "We  should  look  at  this?  " 
he  said.  Mr.  Lorry  nodded  his  consent.  He  opened  it,  and 
exclaimed,  "Thank  God!  " 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Mr.  Lorry,  eagerly. 

"  A  moment!  Let  me  speak  of  it  in  its  place.  First,"  he 
put  his  hand  in  his  coat,  and  took  another  paper  from  it, 
"that  is  the  certificate  which  enables  me  to  pass  out 
of  this  city.  Look  at  it.  You  see  —  Sydney  Carton,  an 
Englishman?" 

Mr.  Lorry  held  it  open  in  his  hand,  gazing  in  his  earnest 
face. 

"Keep  it  for  me  until  to-morrow.  I  shall  see  him  to- 
morrow, you  remember,  and  I  had  better  not  take  it  into 
the  prison." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know:  I  prefer  not  to  do  so.  Now,  take  this 
paper  that  Doctor  Manette  has  carried  about  him.  It  is  a 
similar  certificate,  enabling  him  and  his  daughter  and  her 
child,  at  any  time,  to  pass  the  Barrier  and  the  frontier? 
You  see?" 

"  Yes ! " 


408  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  Perhaps  he  obtained  it  as  his  last  and  utmost  precaution 
against  evil,  yesterday.  When  is  it  dated?  But  no  mat- 
ter; don't  stay  to  look;  put  it  up  carefully  with  mine  and 
your  own.  Now,  observe!  I  never  doubted  until  within 
this  hour  or  two,  that  he  had,  or  could  have,  such  a  paper. 
It  is  good,  until  recalled.  But  it  may  be  soon  recalled,  and, 
I  have  reason  to  think,  will  be." 

"They  are  not  in  danger?" 

"They  are  in  great  danger.  They  are  in  danger  of 
denunciation  by  Madame  Defarge.  I  know  it  from  her 
own  lips.  I  have  overheard  words  of  that  woman's, 
to-night,  which  have  presented  their  danger  to  me  in  strong 
colours.  I  have  lost  no  time,  and  since  then,  I  have  seen 
the  spy.  He  confirms  me.  He  knows  that  a  wood-sawyer, 
living  by  the  prison  wall,  is  under  the  control  of  the 
Defarges,  and  has  been  rehearsed  by  Madame  Defarge  as  to 
his  having  seen  Her"  —  he  never  mentioned  Lucie's  name 
—  "making  signs  and  signals  to  prisoners.  It  is  easy  to 
foresee  that  the  pretence  will  be  the  common  one,  a  prison 
plot,  and  that  it  will  involve  her  life  —  and  perhaps  her 
child's  —  and  perhaps  her  father's  —  for  both  have  been  seen 
with  her  at  that  place.  Don't  look  so  horrified.  You  will 
save  them  all." 

" Heaven  grant  I  may,  Carton!     But  how?" 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  how.  It  will  depend  on  you,  and 
it  could  depend  on  no  better  man.  This  new  denunciation 
will  certainly  not  take  place  until  after  to-morrow ;  probably 
not  until  two  or  three  days  afterwards;  more  probably  a 
week  afterwards.  You  know  it  is  a  capital  crime,  to  mourn 
for,  or  sympathise  with,  a  victim  of  the  Guillotine.  She 
and  her  father  would  unquestionably  be  guilty  of  this  crime, 
and  this  woman  (the  inveteracy  of  whose  pursuit  cannot  be 
described)  would  wait  to  add  that  strength  to  her  case,  and 
make  herself  doubly  sure.     You  follow  me?" 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  409 

"So  attentively,  and  with  so  much  confidence  in  what 
you  say,  that  for  the  moment  I  lose  sight,"  touching  the 
back  of  the  Doctor's  chair,  "even  of  this  distress." 

"You  have  money,  and  can  buy  the  means  of  travelling 
to  the  sea-coast  as  quickly  as  the  journey  can  be  made. 
Your  preparations  have  been  completed  for  some  days,  to 
return  to  England.  Early  to-morrow,  have  your  horses 
ready,  so  that  they  may  be  in  starting  trim  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon." 

"  It  shall  be  done !  " 

His  manner  was  so  fervent  and  inspiring,  that  Mr.  Lorry 
caught  the  flame,  and  was  as  quick  as  youth. 

"You  are  a  noble  heart.  Did  I  say  we  could  depend 
upon  no  better  man?  Tell  her,  to-night,  what  you  know  of 
her  danger  as  involving  her  child  and  her  father.  Dwell 
upon  that,  for  she  would  lay  her  own  fair  head  beside  her 
husband's,  cheerfully."  He  faltered  for  an  instant;  then 
went  on  as  before.  "For  the  sake  of  her  child  and  her 
father,  press  upon  her  the  necessity  of  leaving  Paris,  with 
them  and  you,  at  that  hour.  Tell  her  that  it  was  her  hus- 
band's last  arrangement.  Tell  her  that  more  depends  upon 
it  than  she  dare  believe,  or  hope.  You  think  that  her 
father,  even  in  this  sad  state,  will  submit  himself  to  her; 
do  you  not?"  .    ' 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"I  thought  so.  Quietly  and  steadily,  have  all  these 
arrangements  made  in  the  court-yard  here,  even  to  the 
taking  of  your  own  seat  in  the  carriage.  The  moment  I 
come  to  you,  take  me  in.  and  drive  away." 

"I  understand  that  I  wait  for  you,  under  all  circum- 
stances?" 

"  You  have  my  certificate  in  your  hand  with  the  rest,  you 
know,  and  will  reserve  my  place.  Wait  for  nothing  but  to 
have  my  place  occupied,  and  then  for  England !  " 


410  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Why,  then,"  said  Mr.  Lorry,  grasping  his  eager  but  so 
firm  and  steady  hand,  "  it  does  not  all  depend  on  one  old 
man,  but  I  shall  have  a  young  and  ardent  man  at  my  side." 

"By  the  help  of  Heaven  you  shall!     Promise  me  sol 
emnly,  that  nothing  will  influence  you  to  alter  the  course 
on  which  we  now  stand  pledged  to  one  another." 

"Nothing,  Carton." 

"  Remember  these  words  to-morrow :  change  the  course, 
or  delay  in  it  —  for  any  reason  —  and  no  life  can  possibly 
be  saved,  and  many  lives  must  inevitably  be  sacrificed. " 

"I  will  remember  them.  I  hope  to  do  my  part  faith- 
fully." 

"And  I  hope  to  do  mine.     Now,  good-bye!  " 

Though  he  said  it  with  a  grave  smile  of  earnestness,  and 
though  he  even  put  the  old  man's  hand  to  his  lips,  he  did 
not  part  from  him  then.  He  helped  him  so  far  to  arouse 
the  rocking  figure  before  the  dying  embers,  as  to  get  a  cloak 
and  hat  put  upon  it,  and  to  tempt  it  forth  to  find  where  the 
bench  and  work  were  hidden  that  it  still  moaningly  be- 
sought to  have.  He  walked  on  the  other  side  of  it  and 
protected  it  to  the  court-yard  of  the  house  where  the  afflicted 
heart  —  so  happy  in  the  memorable  time  when  he  had  re- 
vealed his  own  desolate  heart  to  it  —  outwatched  the  awful 
night.  He  entered  the  court-yard  and  remained  there  for 
a  few  moments  alone,  looking  up  at  the  light  in  the  window 
of  her  room.  Before  he  went  away,  he  breathed  a  blessing 
towards  it,  and  a  Farewell. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  411 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

FIFTY-TWO. 

In  the  black  prison  of  the  Conciergerie,  the  doomed  of 
the  day  awaited  their  fate.  They  were  in  number  as  the 
weeks  of  the  year.  Fifty-two  were  to  roll  that  afternoon 
on  the  life-tide  of  the  city  to  the  boundless  everlasting  sea. 
Before  their  cells  were  quit  of  them,  new  occupants  were 
appointed;  before  their  blood  ran  into  the  blood  spilled 
yesterday,  the  blood  that  was  to  mingle  with  theirs  to- 
morrow was  already  set  apart. 

Two  score  and  twelve  were  told  off.  From  the  farmer- 
general  of  seventy,  whose  riches  could  not  buy  his  life,  to 
the  seamstress  of  twenty,  whose  poverty  and  obscurity  could 
not  save  her.  Physical  diseases,  engendered  in  the  vices 
and  neglects  of  men,  will  seize  on  victims  of  all  degrees ; 
and  the  frightful  moral  disorder,  born  of  unspeakable  suf- 
fering, intolerable  oppression,  and  heartless  indifference, 
smote  equally  without  distinction. 

Charles  Darnay,  alone  in  a  cell,  had  sustained  himself 
with  ho  nattering  delusion  since  he  came  to  it  from  the 
Tribunal.  In  every  line  of  the  narrative  he  had  heard,  he 
had  heard  his  condemnation.  He  had  fully  comprehended 
that  no  personal  influence  could  possibly  save  him,  that 
he  was  virtually  sentenced  by  the  millions,  and  that  units 
could  avail  him  nothing. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  not  easy,  with  the  face  of  his  be- 
loved wife  fresh  before  him,  to  compose  his  mind  to  what 
it  must  bear.  His  hold  on  life  was  strong,  and  it  was 
very,  very  hard  to  loosen;  by  gradual  efforts  and  degrees 
unclosed  a  little  here,  it  clenched  the  tighter  there;  and 


412  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

when  he  brought  his  strength  to  bear  on  that  hand  and 
it  yielded,  this  was  closed  again.  There  was  a  hurry,  too, 
in  all  his  thoughts,  a  turbulent  and  heated  working  of 
his  heart,  that  contended  against  resignation.  If,  for  a 
moment,  he  did  feel  resigned,  then  his  wife  and  child  who 
had  to  live  after  him,  seemed  to  protest  and  to  make  it  a 
selfish  thing. 

But,  all  this  was  at  first.  Before  long,  the  consideration 
that  there  was  no  disgrace  in  the  fate  he  must  meet,  and 
that  numbers  went  the  same  road  wrongfully,  and  trod  it 
firmly,  every  day,  sprang  up  to  stimulate  him.  Next  fol- 
lowed the  thought  that  much  of  the  future  peace  of  mind 
enjoyable  by  the  dear  ones,  depended  on  his  quiet  fortitude. 
So,  by  degrees  he  calmed  into  the  better  state,  when  he 
could  raise  his  thoughts  much  higher,  and  draw  comfort 
down. 

Before  it  had  set  in  dark  on  the  night  of  his  condemna- 
tion, he  had  travelled  thus  far  on  his  last  way.  Being 
allowed  to  purchase  the  means  of  writing,  and  a  light,  he 
sat  down  to  write  until  such  time  as  the  prison  lamps 
should  be  extinguished. 

He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Lucie,  showing  her  that  he  had 
known  nothing  of  her  father's  imprisonment  until  he  had 
heard  of  it  from  herself,  and  that  he  had  been  as  ignorant 
as  she  of  his  father's  and  uncle's  responsibility  for  that 
misery,  until  the  paper  had  been  read.  He  had  already 
explained  to  her  that  his  concealment  from  herself  of  the 
name  he  had  relinquished,  was  the  one  condition  —  fully 
intelligible  now  —  that  her  father  had  attached  to  their 
betrothal,  and  was  the  one  promise  he  had  still  exacted  on 
the  morning  of  their  marriage.  He  entreated  her,  for  her 
father's  sake,  never  to  seek  to  know  whether  her  father  had 
become  oblivious  of  the  existence  of  the  paper,  or  had  had 
it  recalled  to  him  (for  the  moment,  or  for  good),  by  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  413 

story  of  the  Tower,  on  that  old  Sunday  under  the  dear 
plane-tree  in  the  garden.  If  he  had  preserved  any  definite 
remembrance  of  it,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  had 
supposed  it  destroyed  with  the  Bastille,  when  he  had  found 
no  mention  of  it  among  the  relics  of  prisoners  which  the 
populace  had  discovered  there,  and  which  had  been  de- 
scribed to  all  the  world.  He  besought  her  —  though  he 
added  that  he  knew  it  was  needless  —  to  console  her  father, 
by  impressing  him  through  every  tender  means  she  could 
think  of,  with  the  truth  that  he  had  done  nothing  for  which 
he  could  justly  reproach  himself,  but  had  uniformly  for- 
gotten himself  for  their  joint  sakes.  Xext  to  her  preserva- 
tion of  his  own  last  grateful  love  and  blessing,  and  her 
overcoming  of  her  sorrow,  to  devote  herself  to  their  dear 
child,  he  adjured  her,  as  they  would  meet  in  Heaven,  to 
comfort  her  father. 

To  her  father  himself,  he  wrote  in  the  same  strain;  but, 
he  told  her  father  that  he  expressly  confided  his  wife  and 
child  to  his  care.  And  he  told  him  this,  very  strongly, 
with  the  hope  of  rousing  him  from  any  despondency  or 
dangerous  retrospect  towards  which  he  foresaw  he  might  be 
tending. 

To  Mr.  Lorry,  he  commended  them  all,  and  explained 
his  worldly  affairs.  That  done,  with  many  added  sentences 
of  grateful  friendship  and  warm  attachment,  all  was  done. 
He  never  thought  of  Carton.  His  mind  was  so  full  of  the 
others,  that  he  never  once  thought  of  him. 

He  had  time  to  finish  these  letters  before  the  lights  were 
put  out.  When  he  lay  down  on  his  straw  bed,  he  thought 
he  had  done  with  this  world. 

But,  it  beckoned  him  back  in  his  sleep,  and  showed 
itself  in  shining  forms.  Free  and  happy,  back  in  the  old 
house  in  Soho  (though  it  had  nothing  in  it  like  the  real 
house),  unaccountably  released  and  light  of  heart,  he  was 


414  A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES. 

with  Lucie  again,  and  she  told  him  it  was  all  a  dream,  and 
he  had  never  gone  away.  A  pause  of  forgetfulness,  and 
then  he  had  even  suffered,  and  had  come  back  to  her,  dead 
and  at  peace,  and  yet  there  was  no  difference  in  him.  An- 
other pause  of  oblivion,  and  he  awoke  in  the  sombre  morn- 
ing, unconscious  where  he  was  or  what  had  happened, 
until  it  flashed  upon  his  mind,  "this  is  the  day  of  my 
death!" 

Thus,  had  he  come  through  the  hours,  to  the  day  when 
the  fifty-two  heads  were  to  fall.  And  now,  while  he  was 
composed,  and  hoped  that  he  could  meet  the  end  with  quiet 
heroism,  a  new  action  began  in  his  waking  thoughts,  which 
was  very  difficult  to  master. 

He  had  never  seen  the  instrument  that  was  to  terminate 
his  life.  How  high  it  was  from  the  ground,  how  many 
steps  it  had,  where  he  would  be  stood,  how  he  would  be 
touched,  whether  the  touching  hands  would  be  dyed  red, 
which  way  his  face  would  be  turned,  whether  he  would  be 
the  first,  or  might  be  the  last:  these  and  many  similar 
questions,  in  no  wise  directed  by  his  will,  obtruded  them- 
selves over  and  over  again,  countless  times.  Neither  were 
they  connected  with  fear:  he  was  conscious  of  no  fear. 
Rather,  they  originated  in  a  strange  besetting  desire  to 
know  what  to  do  when  the  time  came ;  a  desire  gigantically 
disproportionate  to  the  few  swift  moments  to  which  it  re- 
ferred; a  wondering  that  was  more  like  the  wondering 
of  some  other  spirit  within  his,  than  his  own. 

The  hours  went  on  as  he  walked  to  and  fro,  and  the 
clocks  struck  the  numbers  he  would  never  hear  again. 
Nine  gone  for  ever,  ten  gone  for  ever,  eleven  gone  for  ever, 
twelve  coining  on  to  pass  away.  After  a  hard  contest  with 
that  eccentric  action  of  thought  which  had  last  perplexed 
him,  he  had  got  the  better  of  it.  He  walked  up  and  down, 
softly  repeating  their  names  to  himself.     The  worst  of  the 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  415 

strife  was  ever.     He  could  walk  up  and  down,  free  from 
distracting  fancies,  praying  for  himself  and  for  them. 

Twelve  gone  for  ever. 

He  had  been  apprised  that  the  final  hour  was  Three,  and 
he  knew  he  would  be  summoned  some  time  earlier,  inas- 
much as  the  tumbrils  jolted  heavily  and  slowly  through  the 
streets.  Therefore,  he  resolved  to  keep  Two  before  his 
mind,  as  the  hour,  and  so  to  strengthen  himself  in  the  in- 
terval that  he  might  be  able,  after  that  time,  to  strengthen 
others. 

Walking  regularly  to  and  fro  with  his  arms  folded  on  his 
breast,  a  very  different  man  from  the  prisoner  who  had 
walked  to  and  fro  at  La  Force,  he  heard  One  struck  away 
from  him,  without  surprise.  The  hour  had  measured  like 
most  other  hours.  Devoutly  thankful  to  Heaven  for  his 
recovered  self-possession,  he  thought,  "There  is  but  an- 
other now,"  and  turned  to  walk  again. 

Footsteps  in  the  stone  passage,  outside  the  door.  He 
stopped. 

The  key  was  put  in  the  lock,  and  turned.  Before  the 
door  was  opened,  or  as  it  opened,  a  man  said  in  a  low  voice, 
in  English :  "  He  has  never  seen  me  here ;  I  have  kept  out 
of  his  way.     Go  you  in  alone ;  I  wait  near.     Lose  no  time !  " 

The  door  was  quickly  opened  and  closed,  and  there  stood 
before  him,  face  to  face,  quiet,  intent  upon  him,  with  the 
light  of  a  smile  on  his  features  and  a  cautionary  finger  on 
his  lip,  Sydney  Carton. 

There  was  something  so  bright  and  remarkable  in  his 
look,  that,  for  the  first  moment,  the  prisoner  misdoubted 
him  to  be  an  apparition  of  his  own  imagining.  But,  he 
spoke,  and  it  was  his  voice;  he  took  the  prisoner's  hand, 
and  it  was  his  real  grasp. 

"  Of  all  the  people  upon  earth,  you  least  expected  to  see 
me?"  he  said. 


416  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  I  could  not  believe  it  to  be  you.  I  can  scarcely  believe 
it  now.  You  are  not  "  —  the  apprehension  came  suddenly 
into  his  mind  —  "a  prisoner? " 

"No.  I  am  accidentally  possessed  of  a  power  over  one 
of  the  keepers  here,  and  in  virtue  of  it  I  stand  before  you. 
I  come  from  her  —  your  wife,  dear  Darnay." 

The  prisoner  wrung  his  hand. 

"I  bring  you  a  request  from  her." 

"What  is  it?" 

"A  most  earnest,  pressing,  and  emphatic  entreaty,  ad- 
dressed to  you  in  the  most  pathetic  tones  of  the  voice  so 
dear  to  you,  that  you  well  remember." 

The  prisoner  turned  his  face  partly  aside. 

"  You  have  no  time  to  ask  me  why  J  bring  it,  or  what  it 
means;  I  have  no  time  to  tell  you.  You  must  comply  with 
it  —  take  off  those  boots  you  wear,  and  draw  on  these  of 
mine." 

There  was  a  chair  against  the  wall  of  the  cell,  behind  the 
prisoner.  Carton,  pressing  forward,  had  already,  with  the 
speed  of  lightning,  got  him  down  into  it,  and  stood  over 
him  barefoot. 

"Draw  on  these  boots  of  mine.  Put  your  hands  to  them: 
put  your  will  to  them.     Quick!  " 

"Carton,  there  is  no  escaping  from  this  place;  it  never 
can  be  done.  You  will  only  die  with  me.  It  is  mad- 
ness." 

"  It  would  be  madness  if  I  asked  you  to  escape ;  but  do 
I?  When  I  ask  you  to  pass  out  at  that  door,  tell  me  it  is 
madness  and  remain  here.  Change  that  cravat  for  this  of 
mine,  that  coat  for  this  of  mine.  While  you  do  it,  let  me 
take  this  ribbon  from  your  hair,  and  shake  out  your  hair 
like  this  of  mine!  " 

With  wonderful  quickness,  and  with  a  strength  both  of 
will  and  action,  that  appeared  quite  supernatural,  he  forced 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  417 

all   these   changes   upon   him.     The   prisoner  was   like   a 
young  child  in  his  hands. 

"Carton!  Dear  Carton!  It  is  madness.  It  cannot  be 
accomplished,  it  never  can  be  done,  it  has  been  attempted, 
and  has  always  failed.  I  implore  you  not  to  add  your 
death  to  the  bitterness  of  mine." 

"Do  I  ask  you,  my  dear  Damay,  to  pass  the  door? 
When  I  ask  that,  refuse.  There  are  pen  and  ink  and  paper 
on  this  table.     Is  your  hand  steady  enough  to  write?" 

"It  was,  when  you  came  in." 

"  Steady  it  again,  and  write  what  I  shall  dictate.  Quick, 
friend,  quick ! " 

Pressing  his  hand  to  his  bewildered  head,  Darnay  sat 
down  at  the  table.  Carton,  with  his  right  hand  in  his 
breast,  stood  close  beside  him. 

"Write  exactly  as  I  speak." 

"To  whom  do  I  address  it?" 

"To  no  one."     Carton  still  had  his  hand  in  his  breast. 

"Do  I  date  it?" 

"No." 

The  prisoner  looked  up,  at  each  question.  Carton,  stand- 
ing over  him  with  his  hand  in  his  breast,  looked  down. 

" '  If  you  remember, '  "  said  Carton,  dictating,  " '  the  words 
that  passed  between  us,  long  ago,  you  will  readily  compre- 
hend this  when  you  see  it.  You  do  remember  them,  I 
know.     It  is  not  in  your  nature  to  forget  them. '  " 

He  was  drawing  his  hand  from  his  breast;  the  prisoner 
chancing  to  look  up  in  his  hurried  wonder  as  he  wrote,  the 
hand  stopped,  closing  upon  something. 

"Have  you  written  'forget  them?  '  "  Carton  asked. 

"I  have.     Is  that  a  weapon  in  your  hand? " 

"No;  I  am  not  armed." 

"What  is  it  in  your  hand?" 

"You  shall  know  directly.     Write  on;  there  are  but  a 

2  E 


418  A  TALE  OF   TWO   CITIES. 

few  words  more."  He  dictated  again.  "'I  am  thankful 
that  the  time  has  come,  when  I  can  prove  them.  That  I 
do  so,  is  no  subject  for  regret  or  grief.'  "  As  he  said  these 
words  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  writer,  his  hand  slowly 
and  softly  moved  down  close  to  the  writer's  face. 

The  pen  dropped  from  Darnay's  fingers  on  the  table,  and 
he  looked  about  him  vacantly. 

"What  vapour  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Vapour?" 

"Something  that  crossed  me?" 

"I  am  conscious  of  nothing;  there  can  be  nothing  here. 
Take  up  the  pen  and  finish.     Hurry,  hurry!  " 

As  if  his  memory  were  impaired,  or  his  faculties  disor- 
dered, the  prisoner  made  an  effort  to  rally  his  attention. 
As  he  looked  at  Carton  with,  clouded  eyes  and  with  an 
altered  manner  of  breathing,  Carton  —  his  hand  again  in 
his  breast  —  looked  steadily  at  him. 

"  Hurry,  hurry !  " 

The  prisoner  bent  over  the  paper,  once  more. 

"'  If  it  had  been  otherwise; '  "  Carton's  hand  was  again 
watchfully  and  softly  stealing  down ;  " '  I  never  should  have 
used  the  longer  opportunity.  If  it  had  been  otherwise ; '  " 
the  hand  was  at  the  prisoner's  face;  "'  I  should  but  have 
had  so  much  the  more  to  answer  for.  If  it  had  been  other- 
wise   ' "     Carton  looked  at  the  pen,  and  saw  that  it 

was  trailing  off  into  unintelligible  signs. 

Carton's  hand  moved  back  to  his  breast  no  more.  The 
prisoner  sprang  up,  with  a  reproachful  look,  but  Carton's 
hand  was  close  and  firm  at  his  nostrils,  and  Carton's  left 
arm  caught  him  round  the  waist.  For  a  few  seconds  he 
faintly  struggled  with  the  man  who  had  come  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  him ;  but,  within  a  minute  or  so,  he  was  stretched 
insensible  on  the  ground. 

Quickly,  but  with  hands  as  true  to  the  purpose  as  his 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  419 

heart  was,  Carton  dressed  himself  in  the  clothes  the  pris- 
oner had  laid  aside,  combed  back  his  hair,  and  tied  it  with 
the  ribbon  the  prisoner  had  worn.  Then,  he  softly  called 
"  Enter  there !     Come  in ! '    and  the  spy  presented  himself. 

"You  see?"  said  Carton,  looking  up,  as  he  kneeled  on 
one  knee  beside  the  insensible  figure,  putting  the  paper  in 
the  breast :  "  is  your  hazard  very  great?  " 

"Mr.  Carton,"  the  Spy  answered,  with  a  timid  snap  of 
his  fingers,  "  my  hazard  is  not  that,  in  the  thick  of  business 
here,  if  you  are  true  to  the  whole  of  your  bargain." 

"Don't  fear  me.     I  will  be  true  to  the  death." 

"  You  must  be,  Mr.  Carton,  if  the  tale  of  fifty -two  is  to 
be  right.  Being  made  right  by  you  in  that  dress,  I  shall 
have  no  fear." 

"Have  no  fear!  I  shall  soon  be  out  of  the  way  of  harm- 
ing you,  and  the  rest  will  soon  be  far  from  here,  please 
God!     Now,  get  assistance  and  take  me  to  the  coach." 

"You?"  said  the  Spy,  nervously. 

"  Him,  man,  with  whom  I  have  exchanged.  You  go  out 
at  the  gate  b}~  which  you  brought  me  in  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  I  was  weak  and  faint  when  you  brought  me  in,  and  I  am 
fainter  now  you  take  me  out.  The  parting  interview  has 
overpowered  me.  Such  a  thing  has  happened  here,  often, 
and  too  often.  Your  life  is  in  your  own  hands.  Quick! 
Call  assistance !  " 

"You  swear  not  to  betray  me?"  said  the  trembling  spy, 
as  he  paused  for  a  last  moment. 

"  Man,  man !  "  returned  Carton,  stamping  his  foot ;  "  have 
I  sworn  by  no  solemn  vow  already,  to  go  through  with  this, 
that  you  waste  the  precious  moments  now?  Take  him  your- 
self to  the  court-yard  you  know  of,  place  him  yourself  in  the 
carriage,  show  him  yourself  to  Mr.  Lorry,  tell  him  yourself 
to  give  him  no  restorative  but  air,  and  to  remember  my 


420  A   TALE    OF    TWO   CITIES. 

words  of  last  night  and  his  promise  of  last  night,  and  drive 
away ! " 

The  spy  withdrew,  and  Carton  seated  himself  at  the  table, 
resting  his  forehead  on  his  hands.  The  spy  returned 
immediately,  with  two  men. 

"How,  then?"  said  one  of  them,  contemplating  the  fallen 
figure.  "So  afflicted  to  find  that  his  friend  has  drawn  a 
prize  in  the  lottery  of  Sainte  Guillotine?" 

"A  good  patriot,"  said  the  other,  "could  hardly  have 
been  more  afflicted  if  the  Aristocrat  had  drawn  a  blank." 

They  raised  the  unconscious  figure,  placed  it  on  a  litter 
they  had  brought  to  the  door,  and  bent  to  carry  it  away. 

"The  time  is  short,  Evremonde,"  said  the  Spy,  in  a 
warning  voice. 

"I  know  it  well,"  answered  Carton.  "Be  careful  of  my 
friend,  I  entreat  you,  and  leave  me." 

"  Come,  then,  my  children,"  said  Barsad.  "  Lift  him,  and 
come  away ! " 

The  door  closed,  and  Carton  was  left  alone.  Straining 
his  powers  of  listening  to  the  utmost,  he  listened  for  any 
sound  that  might  denote  suspicion  or  alarm.  There  was 
none.  Keys  turned,  doors  clashed,  footsteps  passed  along 
distant  passages:  no  cry  was  raised,  or  hurry  made,  that 
seemed  unusual.  Breathing  more  freely  in  a  little  while, 
he  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  listened  again  until  the  clocks 
struck  Two. 

Sounds  that  he  was  not  afraid  of,  for  he  divined  their 
meaning,  then  began  to  be  audible.  Several  doors  were 
opened  in  succession,  and  finally  his  own.  A  gaoler,  with 
a  list  in  his  hand,  looked  in,  merely  saying,  "  Follow  me, 
Evremonde !  "  and  he  followed  into  a  large  dark  room,  at  a 
distance.  It  was  a  dark  winter  day,  and  what  with  the 
shadows  within,  and  what  with  the  shadows  without,  he 
could  but  dimly  discern  the  others  who  were  brought  there 


A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES.  421 

to  have  their  arms  bound.  Some  were  standing;  some 
seated.  Some  were  lamenting,  and  in  restless  motion;  but, 
these  were  few.  The  great  majority  were  silent  and  still, 
looking  fixedly  at  the  ground. 

As  he  stood  by  the  wall  in  a  dim  corner,  while  some  of 
the  fifty-two  were  brought  in  after  him,  one  man  stopped  in 
passing,  to  embrace  him,  as  having  a  knowledge  of  him.  It 
thrilled  him  with  a  great  dread  of  discovery ;  but  the  man 
went  on.  A  very  few  moments  after  that,  a  young  woman, 
with  a  slight  girlish  form,  a  sweet  spare  face  in  which  there 
was  no  vestige  of  colour,  and  large  widely  opened  patient 
eyes,  rose  from  the  seat  where  he  had  observed  her  sitting, 
and  came  to  speak  to  him. 

"Citizen  Evremonde,"  she  said,  touching  him  with  her 
cold  hand.  "  I  am  a  poor  little  seamstress,  who  was  with 
you  in  La  Force." 

He  murmured  for  answer:  "True.  I  forget  what  you 
were  accused  of?  " 

"Plots.  Though  the  just  Heaven  knows  I  am  innocent 
of  any.  Is  it  likely?  Who  would  think  of  plotting  with  a 
poor  little  weak  creature  like  me?" 

The  forlorn  smile  with  which  she  said  it,  so  touched  him 
that  tears  started  from  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,  Citizen  Evremonde,  but  I  have 
done  nothing.  I  am  not  unwilling  to  die,  if  the  Republic, 
which  is  to  do  so  much  good  to  us  poor,  will  profit  by  my 
death;  but  I  do  not  know  how  that  can  be,  Citizen  Evre- 
monde.    Such  a  poor  weak  little  creature !  " 

As  the  last  thing  on  earth  that  his  heart  was  to  warm 
and  soften  to,  it  warmed  and  softened  to  this  pitiable 
girl. 

"I  heard  you  were  released,  Citizen  Evremonde.  I  hoped 
it  was  true?" 

"It  was.     But,  I  was  again  taken  and  condemned." 


422  A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES. 

"If  I  may  ride  with  you,  Citizen  Evr6monde,  will  you  let 
me  hold  your  hand?  I  am  not  afraid,  but  I  am  little  and 
weak,  and  it  will  give  me  more  courage." 

As  the  patient  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  face,  he  saw  a  sud- 
den doubt  in  them,  and  then  astonishment.     He  pressed  the 
work-worn,  hunger-worn  young  fingers,  and  touched  his  lips. 
"Are  you  dying  for  him?"  she  whispered. 
"  And  his  wife  and  child.     Hush!     Yes." 
"0  you  will  let  me  hold  your  brave  hand,  stranger?" 
"Hush!     Yes,  my  poor  sister;  to  the  last." 

The  same  shadows  that  are  falling  on  the  prison,  are 
falling,  in  the  same  hour  of  that  early  afternoon,  on  the 
Barrier  with  the  crowd  about  it,  when  a  coach  going  out  of 
Paris  drives  up  to  be  examined. 

"Who  goes  here?     Whom  have  we  within?     Papers! " 

The  papers  are  handed  out  and  read. 

"Alexandre  Manette.  Physician.  French.  Which  is 
he?" 

This  is  he ;  this  helpless,  inarticulately  murmuring,  wan 
dering  old  man  pointed  out. 

"Apparently  the  Citizen-Doctor  is  not  in  his  right 
mind?  The  Revolution-fever  will  have  been  too  much 
for  him?" 

Greatly  too  much  for  him. 

"Hah!  Many  suffer  with  it.  Lucie.  His  daughter. 
French.     Which  is  she?" 

This  is  she. 

"Apparently  it  must  be.  Lucie,  the  wife  of  Evremonde; 
is  it  not?  " 

It  is. 

"Hah!  Evremonde  has  an  assignation  elsewhere.  Lucie, 
her  child.     English.     This  is  she?" 

She  and  no  other. 


A   TALE    OF    TWO   CITIES.  423 

"Kiss  me,  child  of  Evremonde.  Now,  thou  hast  kissed  a 
good  Republican;  something  new  in  thy  family;  remember 
it!     Sydney  Carton.     Advocate.     English.     Which  is  he?" 

He  lies  here,  in  this  corner  of  the  carriage.  He,  too,  is 
pointed  out. 

"Apparently  the  English  advocate  is  in  a  swoon?" 

It  is  hoped  he  will  recover  in  the  fresher  air.  It  is 
represented  that  he  is  not  in  strong  health,  and  has  sepa- 
rated sadly  from  a  friend  who  is  under  the  displeasure  of 
the  Republic. 

"Is  that  all?  It  is  not  a  great  deal,  that!  Many  are 
under  the  displeasure  of  the  Eepublic,  and  must  look  out 
at  the  little  window.  Jarvis  Lorry.  Banker.  English. 
Which  is  he?" 

"I  am  he.     Necessarily,  being  the  last." 

It  is  Jarvis  Lorry  who  has  replied  to  all  the  previous 
questions.  It  is  Jarvis  Lorry  who  has  alighted  and  stands 
with  his  hand  on  the  coach  door,  replying  to  a  group  of 
officials.  They  leisurely  walk  round  the  carriage  and  leis- 
urely mount  the  box,  to  look  at  what  little  luggage  it 
carries  on  the  roof;  the  country -people  hanging  about,  press 
nearer  to  the  coach  doors  and  greedily  stare  in;  a  little 
child,  carried  by  its  mother,  has  its  short  arm  held  out  for 
it,  that  it  may  touch  the  wife  of  an  aristocrat  who  has  gone 
to  the  Guillotine. 

"Behold  your  papers,  Jarvis  Lorry,  countersigned." 

"One  can  depart,  citizen?" 

"One  can  depart.  Forward,  my  postilions!  A  good 
journey !  " 

"I  salute  you,  citizens.  — And  the  first  danger  passed!  " 

These  are  again  the  words  of  Jarvis  Lorry,  as  he  clasps 
his  hands,  and  looks  upward.  There  is  terror  in  the  car- 
riage, there  is  weeping,  there  is  the  heavy  breathing  of  the 
insensible  traveller. 


424  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"  Are  we  not  going  too  slowly  ?  Can  they  not  be  induced 
to  go  faster?"  asks  Lucie,  clinging  to  the  old  man. 

"  It  would  seem  like  flight,  my  darling.  I  must  not  urge 
them  too  much;  it  would  rouse  suspicion." 

"Look  back,  look  back,  and  see  if  we  are  pursued!  " 

"The  road  is  clear,  my  dearest.  So  far,  we  are  not- 
pursued." 

Houses  in  twos  and  threes  pass  by  us,  solitary  farms, 
ruinous  buildings,  dye-works,  tanneries  and  the  like,  open 
country,  avenues  of  leafless  trees.  The  hard  uneven  pave- 
ment is  under  us,  the  soft  deep  mud  is  on  either  side. 
Sometimes,  we  strike  into  the  skirting  mud,  to  avoid  the 
stones  that  clatter  us  and  shake  us ;  sometimes  we  stick  in 
ruts  and  sloughs  there.  The  agony  of  our  impatience  is 
then  so  great,  that  in  our  wild  alarm  and  hurry  we  are  for 
getting  out  and  running  —  hiding  —  doing  anything  but 
stopping. 

Out  of  the  open  country,  in  again  among  ruinous  build- 
ings, solitary  farms,  dye-works,  tanneries  and  the  like,  cot- 
tages in  twos  and  threes,  avenues  of  leafless  trees.  Have 
these  men  deceived  us,  and  taken  us  back  by  another  road? 
Is  not  this  the  same  place  twice  over?  Thank  Heaven  no. 
A  village.  Look  back,  look  back,  and  see  if  we  are  pur- 
sued!    Hush!  the  posting-house. 

Leisurely,  our  four  horses  are  taken  out;  leisurely,  the 
coach  stands  in  the  little  street,  bereft  of  horses,  and  with 
no  likelihood  upon  it  of  ever  moving  again;  leisurely,  the 
new  horses  come  into  visible  existence,  one  by  one;  lei- 
surely, the  new  postilions  follow,  sucking  and  plaiting  the 
lashes  of  their  whips;  leisurely,  the  old  postilions  count 
their  money,  make  wrong  additions,  and  arrive  at  dissatis- 
fied results.  All  the  time,  our  overfraught  hearts  are  beat- 
ing at  a  rate  that  would  far  outstrip  the  fastest  gallop  of 
the  fastest  horses  ever  foaled. 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  425 

At  length  the  new  postilions  are  in  their  saddles,  and  the 
old  are  left  behind.  We  are  through  the  village,  up  the 
hill,  and  down  the  hill,  and  on  the  low  watery  grounds. 
Suddenly,  the  postilions  exchange  speech  with  animated 
gesticulation,  and  the  horses  are  pulled  up,  almost  on  their 
haunches.     AVe  are  pursued! 

"Ho!     Within  the  carriage  there.     Speak  then!  " 

"What  is  it?"  asks  Mr.  Lorry,  looking  out  at  window. 

"How  many  did  they  say?" 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  —  At  the  last  post.  How  many  to  the  Guillotine 
to-day?" 

"Fifty-two." 

"I  said  so!  A  brave  number!  My  fellow-citizen  here, 
would  have  it  forty -two;  ten  more  heads  are  worth  having. 
The  Guillotine  goes  handsomely.  I  love  it.  Hi  forward. 
Whoop ! " 

The  night  comes  on  dark.  He  moves  more;  he  is  begin- 
ning to  revive,  and  to  speak  intelligibly ;  he  thinks  they  are 
still  together;  he  asks  him,  by  his  name,  what  he  has  in 
his  hand.  0  pity  us,  kind  Heaven,  and  help  us!  Look 
out,  look  out,  and  see  if  we  are  pursued. 

The  wind  is  rushing  after  us,  and  the  clouds  are  flying 
after  us,  and  the  moon  is  plunging  after  us,  and  the  whole 
wild  night  is  in  pursuit  of  us ;  but,  so  far,  we  are  pursued 
by  nothing  else. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    KNITTING    DONE. 

In  that  same  juncture  of  time  when  the  Fifty-two  awaited 
their  fate,  Madame  Defarge  held  darkly  ominous  council 
with  The  Vengeance  and  Jacques  Three  of  the  Revolution- 


426  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

ary  Jury.  Not  in  the  wine-shop  did  Madame  Defarge 
confer  with  these  ministers,  but  in  the  shed  of  the  wood- 
sawyer,  erst  a  mender  of  roads.  The  sawyer  himself  did 
not  participate  in  the  conference,  but  abided  at  a  little 
distance,  like  an  outer  satellite  who  was  not  to  speak  until 
required,  or  to  offer  an  opinion  until  invited. 

"  But  our  Defarge, "  said  Jacques  Three,  "  is  undoubtedly 
a  good  Eepublican?     Eh?  " 

"There  is  no  better,"  the  voluble  Vengeance  protested  in 
her  shrill  notes,  "in  France." 

"Peace,  little  Vengeance,"  said  Madame  Defarge,  laying 
her  hand  with  a  slight  frown  on  her  lieutenant's  lips,  "hear 
me  speak.  My  husband,  fellow-citizen,  is  a  good  Republi- 
can and  a  bold  man ;  he  has  deserved  well  of  the  Republic, 
and  possesses  its  confidence.  But  my  husband  has  his  weak- 
nesses, and  he  is  so  weak  as  to  relent  towards  this  Doctor." 

"It  is  a  great  pity,"  croaked  Jacques  Three,  dubiously 
shaking  his  head,  with  his  cruel  fingers  at  his  hungry 
mouth;  "it  is  not  quite  like  a  good  citizen;  it  is  a  thing 
to  regret." 

"  See  you,"  said  madame,  "I  care  nothing  for  this  Doctor, 
I.  He  may  wear  his  head  or  lose  it,  for  any  interest  I  have 
in  him;  it  is  all  one  to  me.  But,  the  Evremonde  people  are 
to  be  exterminated,  and  the  wife  and  child  must  follow  the 
husband  and  father." 

"She  has  a  fine  head  for  it,"  croaked  Jacques  Three.  "I 
have  seen  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair  there,  and  they  looked 
charming  when  Sanson  held  them  up."  Ogre  that  he  was, 
he  spoke  like  an  epicure. 

Madame  Defarge  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  reflected  a  little. 

"The  child  also,"  observed  Jacques  Three,  with  a  medi- 
tative enjoj^ment  of  his  words,  "has  golden  hair  and  blue 
eyes.  And  we  seldom  have  a  child  there.  It  is  a  pretty 
sight!" 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  427 

"In  a  word,"  said  Madame  Defarge,  coming  out  of  her 
short  abstraction,  "  I  cannot  trust  my  husband  in  this  mat- 
ter. Not  only  do  I  feel,  since  last  night,  that  I  dare  not 
confide  to  him  the  details  of  my  projects;  but  also  I  feel 
that  if  I  delay,  there  is  danger  of  his  giving  warning,  and 
then  they  might  escape." 

"  That  must  never  be, "  croaked  Jacques  Three ;  "  no  one 
must  escape.  We  have  not  half  enough  as  it  is.  We  ought 
to  have  six  score  a  day." 

"  In  a  word, "  Madame  Defarge  went  on,  "  my  husband  has 
not  my  reason  for  pursuing  this  family  to  annihilation,  and 
I  have  not  his  reason  for  regarding  this  Doctor  with  any 
sensibility.  I  must  act  for  myself,  therefore.  Come  hither, 
little  citizen." 

The  wood-sawyer,  who  held  her  in  the  respect,  and  him- 
self in  the  submission,  of  mortal  fear,  advanced  with  his 
hand  to  his  red  cap. 

"Touching  those  signals,  little  citizen,"  said  Madame 
Defarge,  sternly,  "that  she  made  to  the  prisoners;  you  are 
ready  to  bear  witness  to  them  this  very  day?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  why  not !  "  cried  the  sawyer.  "  Every  day,  in 
all  weathers,  from  two  to  four,  always  signalling,  sometimes 
with  the  little  one,  sometimes  without.  I  know  what  I 
know.     I  have  seen  with  my  eyes." 

He  made  all  manner  of  gestures  while  he  spoke,  as  if  in 
incidental  imitation  of  some  few  of  the  great  diversity  of 
signals  that  he  had  never  seen. 

"Clearly  plots,"  said  Jacques  Three.     "Transparently! ' 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  the  Jury?"  inquired  Madame 
Defarge,  letting  her  eyes  turn  to  him  with  a  gloomy  smile. 

"  Rely  upon  the  patriotic  Jury,  dear  citizeness.  I  answer 
for  my  fellow- Jury  men." 

"Now,  let  me  see,"  said  Madame  Defarge,  pondering 
again.     "Yet  once  more!     Can  I  spare  this  Doctor  to  my 


428  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

husband?     I   have   no   feeling  either  way.      Can  I   spare 
him?" 

"He  would  count  as  one  head,"  observed  Jacques  Three, 
in  a  low  voice.  "We  really  have  not  heads  enough;  it 
would  be  a  pity,  I  think." 

"He  was  signalling  with  her  when  I  saw  her,"  urged 
Madame  Defarge;  "I  cannot  speak  of  one  without  the 
other;  and  I  must  not  be  silent,  and  trust  the  case  wholly 
to  him,  this  little  citizen  here.  For,  I  am  not  a  bad 
witness." 

The  Vengeance  and  Jacques  Three  vied  with  each  other 
in  their  fervent  protestations  that  she  was  the  most  admir- 
able and  marvellous  of  witnesses.  The  little  citizen,  not 
to  be  outdone,  declared  her  to  be  a  celestial  witness. 

"He  must  take  his  chance,"  said  Madame  Defarge. 
"No;  I  cannot  spare  him!  You  are  engaged  at  three 
o'clock;  you  are  going  to  see  the  batch  of  to-day  executed. 
—  You?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  the  wood-sawyer,  who 
hurriedly  replied  in  the  affirmative :  seizing  the  occasion  to 
add  that  he  was  the  most  ardent  of  Republicans,  and  that 
he  would  be  in  effect  the  most  desolate  of  Republicans,  if 
anything  prevented  him  from  enjoying  the  pleasure  of 
smoking  his  afternoon  pipe  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
droll  national  barber.  He  was  so  very  demonstrative 
herein,  that  he  might  have  been  suspected  (perhaps  was, 
b}'  the  dark  eyes  that  looked  contemptuously  at  him  out  of 
Madame  Defarge's  head)  of  having  his  small  individual 
fears  for  his  own  personal  safety,  every  hour  in  the  day. 

"I,"  said  madame,  "am  equally  engaged  at  the  same 
place.  After  it  is  over  —  say  at  eight  to-night  —  come  you 
to  me,  in  Saint  Antoine,  and  we  will  give  information 
against. these  people  at  my  Section." 

The  wood-sawyer  said  he  would  be  proud  and  flattered  to 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  429 

attend  the  citizeness.  The  citizeness  looking  at  him,  he 
became  embarrassed,  evaded  her  glance  as  a  small  dog  would 
have  done,  retreated  among  his  wood,  and  hid  his  confu- 
sion over  the  handle  of  his  saw. 

Madame  Defarge  beckoned  the  Juryman  and  The  Ven- 
geance a  little  nearer  to  the  door,  and  there  expounded  her 
further  views  to  them  thus : 

"  She  will  now  be  at  home,  awaiting  the  moment  of  his 
death.  She  will  be  mourning  and  grieving.  She  will  be 
in  a  state  of  mind  to  impeach  the  justice  of  the  Republic. 
She  will  be  full  of  sympathy  with  its  enemies.  I  will  go 
to  her." 

"  What  an  admirable  woman ;  what  an  adorable  woman !  " 
exclaimed  Jacques  Three,  rapturously.  "Ah,  my  cher- 
ished! "  cried  The  Vengeance;  and  embraced  her. 

"Take  you  my  knitting,"  said  Madame  Defarge,  placing 
it  in  her  lieutenant's  hands,  "  and  have  it  ready  for  me  in 
my  usual  seat.  Keep  me  my  usual  chair.  Go  you  there, 
straight,  for  there  will  probably  be  a  greater  concourse 
than  usual,  to-day." 

"I  willingly  obey  the  orders  of  my  Chief,"  said  The 
Vengeance,  with  alacrity,  and  kissing  her  cheek.  "You 
Will  not  be  late?" 

"I  shall  be  there  before  the  commencement." 

"And  before  the  tumbrils  arrive.  Be  sure  you  are  there, 
my  soul,"  said  The  Vengeance,  calling  after  her,  for  she 
had  already  turned  into  the  street,  "before  the  tumbrils 
arrive ! " 

Madame  Defarge  slightly  waved  her  hand,  to  imply  that 
she  heard,  and  might  be  relied  upon  to  arrive  in  good  time, 
and  so  went  through  the  mud,  and  round  the  corner  of  the 
prison  wall.  The  Vengeance  and  the  Juryman,  looking 
after  her  as  she  walked  away,  were  highly  appreciative  of 
her  fine  figure,  and  her  superb  moral  endowments. 


430  A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES. 

There  were  many  women  at  that  time,  upon  whom  the 
time  laid  a  dreadfully  disfiguring  hand;  but,  there  was  not 
one  among  them  more  to  be  dreaded  than  this  ruthless 
woman,  now  taking  her  way  along  the  streets.  Of  a  strong 
and  fearless  character,  of  shrewd  sense  and  readiness,  of 
great  determination,  of  that  kind  of  beauty  which  not 
only  seems  to  impart  to  its  possessor  firmness  and  animosity, 
but  to  strike  into  others  an  instinctive  recognition  of  those 
qualities;  the  troubled  time  would  have  heaved  her  up, 
under  any  circumstances.  But,  imbued  from  her  childhood 
with  a  brooding  sense  of  wrong,  and  an  inveterate  hatred 
of  a  class,  opportunity  had  developed  her  into  a  tigress. 
She  was  absolutely  without  pity.  If  she  had  ever  had  the 
virtue  in  her,  it  had  quite  gone  out  of  her. 

It  was  nothing  to  her,  that  an  innocent  man  was  to  die 
for  the  sins  of  his  forefathers;  she  saw,  not  him,  but  them. 
It  was  nothing  to  her,  that  his  wife  was  to  be  made  a  widow 
and  his  daughter  an  orphan ;  that  was  insufficient  punish- 
ment, because  they  were  her  natural  enemies  and  her  prey, 
and  as  such  had  no  right  to  live.  To  appeal  to  her,  was 
made  hopeless  by  her  having  no  sense  of  pity,  even  for 
herself.  If  she  had  been  laid  low  in  the  streets,  in  any  of 
the  many  encounters  in  which  she  had  been  engaged,  she 
would  not  have  pitied  herself;  nor,  if  she  had  been  ordered 
to  the  axe  to-morrow,  would  she  have  gone  to  it  with  any 
softer  feeling  than  a  fierce  desire  to  change  places  with  the 
man  who  sent  her  there. 

Such  a  heart  Madame  Defarge  carried  under  her  rough 
robe.  Carelessly  worn,  it  was  a  becoming  robe  enough,  in 
a  certain  weird  way,  and  her  dark  hair  looked  rich  under 
her  coarse  red  cap.  Lying  hidden  in  her  bosom,  was  a 
loaded  pistol.  Lying  hidden  at  her  waist,  was  a  sharpened 
dagger.  Thus  accoutred,  and  walking  with  the  confident 
tread  of  such  a  character,  and  with  the  supple  freedom  of 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  431 

a  woman  who  had  habitually  walked  in  her  girlhood,  bare- 
foot and  bare-legged,  on  the  brown  sea-sand,  Madame  De- 
farge  took  her  way  along  the  streets. 

Now,  when  the  journey  of  the  travelling  coach,  at  that 
very  moment  waiting  for  the  completion  of  its  load,  had 
been  planned  out  last  night,  the  difficulty  of  taking  Miss 
Pross  in  it  had  much  engaged  Mr.  Lorry's  attention.  It 
was  not  merely  desirable  to  avoid  overloading  the  coach, 
but  it  was  of  the  highest  importance  that  the  time  occupied 
in  examining  it  and  its  passengers,  should  be  reduced  to 
the  utmost;  since  their  escape  might  depend  on  the  saving 
of  only  a  few  seconds  here  and  there.  Finally,  he  had  pro- 
posed, after  anxious  consideration,  that  Miss  Pross  and 
Jerry,  who  were  at  liberty  to  leave  the  city,  should  leave 
it  at  three  o'clock  in  the  lightest-wheeled  conveyance 
known  to  that  period.  Unencumbered  with  luggage,  they 
would  soon  overtake  the  coach,  and,  passing  it  and  preced- 
ing it  on  the  road,  would  order  its  horses  in  advance,  and 
greatly  facilitate  its  progress  during  the  precious  hours  of 
the  night,  when  delay  was  the  most  to  be  dreaded. 

Seeing  in  this  arrangement  the  hope  of  rendering  real 
service  in  that  pressing  emergency,  Miss  Pross  hailed  it 
with  joy.  She  and  Jerry  had  beheld  the  coach  start,  had 
known  who  it  was  that  Solomon  brought,  had  passed  some 
ten  minutes  in  tortures  of  suspense,  and  were  now  conclud- 
ing their  arrangements  to  follow  the  coach,  even  as  Madame 
Defarge,  taking  her  way  through  the  streets,  now  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  else-deserted  lodging  in  which 
they  held  their  consultation. 

"Now  what  do  you  think,  Mr.  Cruncher,"  said  Miss 
Pross,  whose  agitation  was  so  great  that  she  could  hardly 
speak,  or  stand,  or  move,  or  live :  "  what  do  you  think  of  our 
not  starting  from  this  court-yard?  Another  carriage  having 
already  gone  from  here  to-day,  it  might  awaken  suspicion." 


432  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"My  opinion,  miss,"  returned  Mr.  Cruncher,  "is  as  you're 
right.     Likewise  wot  I'll  stand  by  you,  right  or  wrong." 

';  I  am  so  distracted  with  fear  and  hope  for  our  precious 
creatures,"  said  Miss  Pross,  wildly  crying,  "that  I  am  in- 
capable of  forming  any  plan.  Are  you  capable  of  forming 
any  plan,  my  dear  good  Mr.  Cruncher?" 

"Bespectin'  a  future  spear  o'  life,  miss,"  returned  Mr. 
Cruncher,  "  I  hope  so.  Bespectin'  any  present  use  o'  this 
here  blessed  old  head  o'  mine,  I  think  not.  Would  you  do 
me  the  favour,  miss,  to  take  notice  o'  two  promises  and 
wows  wot  it  is  my  wishes  fur  to  record  in  this  here  crisis?  " 

"  Oh,  for  gracious  sake ! '  cried  Miss  Pross,  still  wildly 
crying,  "record  them  at  once,  and  get  them  out  of  the  way, 
like  an  excellent  man." 

"First,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  who  was  all  in  a  tremble, 
and  who  spoke  with  an  ashy  and  solemn  visage,  "  them  poor 
things  well  out  o'  this,  never  no  more  will  I  do  it,  never  no 
more !  " 

"I  am  quite  sure,  Mr.  Cruncher,"  returned  Miss  Pross, 
"that  you  never  will  do  it  again,  whatever  it  is,  and  I  beg 
you  not  to  think  it  necessary  to  mention  more  particularly 
what  it  is." 

"No,  miss,"  returned  Jerry,  "it  shall  not  be  named  to 
you.  Second:  them  poor  things  well  out  o'  this,  and  never 
no  more  will  I  interfere  with  Mrs.  Cruncher's  flopping, 
never  no  more !  " 

"Whatever  housekeeping  arrangement  that  may  be,  "said 
Miss  Pross,  striving  to  dry  her  eyes  and  compose  herself, 
"I  have  no  doubt  it  is  best  that  Mrs.  Cruncher  should  have 
it  entirely  under  her  own  superintendence  —  O  my  poor 
darlings !  " 

"I  go  so  far  as  to  say,  miss,  morehover,"  proceeded  Mr. 
Cruncher,  with  a  most  alarming  tendency  to  hold  forth  as 
from  a  pulpit  —  "  and  let  my  words  be  took  down  and  took 


A   TALE    OF   TWO    CITIES.  433 

to  Mrs.  Cruncher  through  yourself  —  that  wot  my  opinions 
respectin'  flopping  has  undergone  a  change,  and  that  wot  I 
only  hope  with  all  my  heart  as  Mrs.  Cruncher  may  be  a 
flopping  at  the  present  time." 

"There,  there,  there!  I  hope  she  is,  my  dear  man,"  cried 
the  distracted  Miss  Pross,  "and  I  hope  she  finds  it  answer- 
ing her  expectations." 

"Forbid  it,"  proceeded  Mr.  Cruncher,  with  additional 
solemnity,  additional  slowness,  and  additional  tendency  to 
hold  forth  and  hold  out,  "  as  anything  wot  I  have  ever  said 
or  done  should  be  wisited  on  my  earnest  wishes  for  them 
poor  creeturs  now !  Forbid  it  as  we  shouldn't  all  flop  (if  it 
was  anyways  conwenient)  to  get  'em  out  o'  this  here  dismal 
risk !  Forbid  it,  miss !  Wot  I  say,  for — bid  it !  "  This 
was  Mr.  Cruncher's  conclusion  after  a  protracted  but  vain 
endeavour  to  find  a  better  one. 

And  still  Madame  Defarge,  pursuing  her  way  along  the 
streets,  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"If  we  ever  get  back  to  our  native  land,"  said  Miss 
Pross,  "you  may  rely  upon  my  telling  Mrs.  Cruncher  as 
much  as  I  may  be  able  to  remember  and  understand  of  what 
you  have  so  impressively  said;  and  at  all  events  you  may 
be  sure  that  I  shall  bear  witness  to  your  being  thoroughly 
in  earnest  at  this  dreadful  time.  Now,  pray  let  us  think ! 
My  esteemed  Mr.  Cruncher,  let  us  think!  " 

Still,  Madame  Defarge,  pursuing  her  way  along  the 
streets,  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"If  you  were  to  go  before,"  said  Miss  Pross,  "and  stop 
the  vehicle  and  horses  from  coming  here,  and  were  to  wait 
somewhere  for  me;  wouldn't  that  be  best?" 

Mr.  Cruncher  thought  it  might  be  best. 

"Where  could  you  wait  for  me?"  asked  Miss  Pross. 

Mr.  Cruncher  was  so  bewildered  that  he  could  think  of 
no  locality  but  Temple  Bar.     Alas,  Temple  Bar  was  hun- 

2   F 


434  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

dreds  of  miles  away,  and  Madame  Defarge  was  drawing 
very  near  indeed. 

"By  the  cathedral  door,"  said  Miss  Pross.  "Would  it 
be  much  out  of  the  way,  to  take  me  in,  near  the  great 
cathedral  door  between  the  two  towers?" 

"No,  miss,"  answered  Mr.  Cruncher. 

"Then,  like  the  best  of  men,"  said  Miss  Pross,  "go  to 
the  posting-house  straight,  and  make  that  change." 

"I  am  doubtful,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  hesitating  and  shak- 
ing his  head,  "  about  leaving  of  you,  you  see.  We  don't 
know  what  may  happen." 

"Heaven  knows  we  don't,"  returned  Miss  Pross,  "but 
have  no  fear  for  me.  Take  me  in  at  the  cathedral,  at  Three 
o'Clock  or  as  near  it  as  you  can,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be 
better  than  our  going  from  here.  I  feel  certain  of  it. 
There!  Bless  you,  Mr.  Cruncher!  Think  —  not  of  me, 
but  of  the  lives  that  may  depend  on  both  of  us !  " 

This  exordium,  and  Miss  Pross ?s  two  hands  in  quite 
agonised  entreaty  clasping  his,  decided  Mr.  Cruncher. 
With  an  encouraging  nod  or  two,  he  immediately  went  out 
to  alter  the  arrangements,  and  left  her  by  herself  to  follow 
as  she  had  proposed. 

The  having  originated  a  precaution  which  was  already  in 
course  of  execution,  was  a  great  relief  to  Miss  Pross.  The 
necessity  of  composing  her  appearance  so  that  it  should 
attract  no  special  notice  in  the  streets,  was  another  relief. 
She  looked  at  her  watch,  and  it  was  twenty  minutes  past 
two.     She  had  no  time  to  lose,  but  must  get  ready  at  once. 

Afraid,  in  her  extreme  perturbation,  of  the  loneliness  of 
the  deserted  rooms,  and  of  half-imagined  faces  peeping 
from  behind  every  open  door  in  them,  Miss  Pross  got  a 
basin  of  cold  water  and  began  laving  her  eyes,  which  were 
swollen  and  red.  Haunted  by  her  feverish  apprehensions, 
she  could  not  bear  to  have  her  sight  obscured  for  a  minute 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  435 

at  a  time  by  the  dripping  water,  but  constantly  paused  and 
looked  round  to  see  that  there  was  no  one  watching  her. 
In  one  of  those  pauses  she  recoiled  and  cried  out,  for  she 
saw  a  figure  standing  in  the  room. 

The  basin  fell  to  the  ground  broken,  and  the  water  flowed 
to  the  feet  of  Madame  Defarge.  By  strange  stern  ways, 
and  through  much  staining  blood,  those  feet  had  come  to 
meet  that  water. 

Madame  Defarge  looked  coldly  at  her,  and  said,  "The 
wife  of  Evremonde;  where  is  she?" 

It  flashed  upon  Miss  Pross's  mind  that  the  doors  were  all 
standing  open,  and  would  suggest  the  flight.  Her  first  act 
was  to  shut  them.  There  were  four  in  the  room,  and  she 
shut  them  all.  She  then  placed  herself  before  the  door  of 
the  chamber  which  Lucie  had  occupied. 

Madame  Defarge's  dark  eyes  followed  her  through  this 
rapid  movement,  and  rested  on  her  when  it  was  finished. 
Miss  Pross  had  nothing  beautiful  about  her;  years  had  not 
tamed  the  wildness,  or  softened  the  grimness,  of  her  appear- 
ance ;  but,  she  too  was  a  determined  woman  in  her  different 
way,  and  she  measured  Madame  Defarge  with  her  eyes, 
every  inch. 

"  You  might,  from  your  appearance,  be  the  wife  of  Luci- 
fer," said  Miss  Pross,  in  her  breathing.  "Nevertheless  you 
shall  not  get  the  better  of  me.     I  am  an  Englishwoman." 

Madame  Defarge  looked  at  her  scornfully,  but  still  with 
something  of  Miss  Pross's  own  perception  that  they  two 
were  at  bay.  She  saw  a  tight,  hard,  wiry  woman  before 
her,  as  Mr.  Lorry  had  seen  in  the  same  figure  a  woman  with 
a  strong  hand,  in  the  years  gone  by.  She  knew  full  well 
that  Miss  Pross  was  the  family's  devoted  friend;  Miss 
Pross  knew  full  well  that  Madame  Defarge  was  the  family's 
malevolent  enemy. 

"On  my  way  yonder,"  said  Madame  Defarge,   with  a 


436  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

slight  movement  of  her  hand  towards  the  fatal  spot,  "  where 
they  reserve  my  chair  and  my  knitting  for  me,  I  am  come  to 
make  my  compliments  to  her  in  passing.    I  wish  to  see  her." 

"I  know  that  your  intentions  are  evil,"  said  Miss  Pross; 
"and  you  may  depend  upon  it,  I'll  hold  my  own  against 
them." 

Each  spoke  in  her  own  language ;  neither  understood  the 
other's  words;  both  were  very  watchful,  and  intent  to  de- 
duce from  look  and  manner,  what  the  unintelligible  words 
meant. 

"  It  will  do  her  no  good  to  keep  herself  concealed  from 
me  at  this  moment,"  said  Madame  Defarge.  "Good  patri- 
ots will  know  what  that  means.  Let  me  see  her.  Go  tell 
her  that  I  wish  to  see  her.     Do  you  hear?  " 

"  If  those  eyes  of  yours  were  bed-winches, "  returned  Miss 
Pross,  "and  I  was  an  English  four-poster,  they  shouldn't 
loose  a  splinter  of  me.  No,  you  wicked  foreign  woman;  I 
am  your  match." 

Madame  Defarge  was  not  likely  to  follow  these  idiomatic 
remarks  in  detail;  but,  she  so  far  understood  them  as  to 
perceive  that  she  was  set  at  naught. 

"  Woman  imbecile  and  pig-like !  "  said  Madame  Defarge, 
frowning.  "I  take  no  answer  from  you.  I  demand  to  see 
her.  Either  tell  her  that  I  demand  to  see  her,  or  stand  out 
of  the  way  of  the  door  and  let  me  go  to  her !  "  This,  with 
an  angry  explanatory  wave  of  her  right  arm. 

"I  little  thought,"  said  Miss  Pross,  "that  I  should  ever 
want  to  understand  your  nonsensical  language;  but  I  would 
give  all  I  have,  except  the  clothes  I  wear,  to  know  whether 
you  suspect  the  truth,  or  any  part  of  it." 

Neither  of  them  for  a  single  moment  released  the  other's 
eyes.  Madame  Defarge  had  not  moved  from  the  spot  where 
she  stood  when  Miss  Pross  first  became  aware  of  her;  but, 
she  now  advanced  one  step. 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES.  437 

"I  am  a  Briton,"  said  Miss  Pross,  "I  am  desperate.  I 
don't  care  an  English  Twopence  for  myself.  I  know  that 
the  longer  I  keep  you  here,  the  greater  hope  there  is  for 
my  Ladybird.  I'll  not  leave  a  handful  of  that  dark  hair 
upon  your  head,  if  you  lay  a  finger  on  me! " 

Thus  Miss  Pross,  with  a  shake  of  her  head  and  a  flash 
of  her  eyes  between  every  rapid  sentence,  and  every  rapid 
sentence  a  whole  breath.  Thus  Miss  Pross,  who  had  never 
struck  a  blow  in  her  life. 

But,  her  courage  was  of  that  emotional  nature  that  it 
brought  the  irrepressible  tears  into  her  eyes.  This  was  a 
courage  that  Madame  Defarge  so  little  comprehended  as  to 
mistake  for  weakness.  "Ha,  ha!  "  she  laughed,  "you  poor 
wretch !  What  are  you  worth !  I  address  myself  to  that 
Doctor."  Then  she  raised  her  voice  and  called  out,  "Citi- 
zen Doctor!  Wife  of  Evremonde!  Child  of  Evremonde! 
Any  person  but  this  miserable  fool,  answer  the  Citizeness 
Defarge ! " 

Perhaps  the  following  silence,  perhaps  some  latent  dis- 
closure in  the  expression  of  Miss  Pross 's  face,  perhaps  a 
sudden  misgiving  apart  from  either  suggestion,  whispered 
to  Madame  Defarge  that  they  were  gone.  Three  of  the 
doors  she  opened  swiftly,  and  looked  in. 

"Those  rooms  are  all  in  disorder,  there  has  been  hur- 
ried packing,  there  are  odds  and  ends  upon  the  ground. 
There  is  no  one  in  that  room  behind  you!  Let  me 
look." 

"  Never ! "  said  Miss  Pross,  who  understood  the  request 
as  perfectly  as  Madame  Defarge  understood  the  answer. 

"  If  they  are  not  in  that  room,  they  are  gone,  and  can  be 
pursued  and  brought  back,"  said  Madame  Defarge  to  her- 
self. 

"As  long  as  you  don't  know  whether  they  are  in  that 
room   or  not,  you  are  uncertain  what  to    do,"  said   Miss 


438  A   TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 

Pross  to  herself;  "and  you  shall  not  know  that,  if  I  can 
prevent  your  knowing  it;  and  know  that,  or  not  know  that, 
you  shall  not  leave  here  while  I  can  hold  you." 

"I  have  been  in  the  streets  from  the  first,  nothing  has 
stopped  me,  I  will  tear  you  to  pieces  but  I  will  have  you 
from  that  door,"  said  Madame  Defarge. 

"We  are  alone  at  the  top  of  a  high  house  in  a  solitary 
court-yard,  we  are  not  likely  to  be  heard,  and  I  pray  for 
bodily  strength  to  keep  you  here,  while  every  minute  you 
are  here  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  guineas  to  my  dar- 
ling," said  Miss  Pross. 

Madame  Defarge  made  at  the  door.  Miss  Pross,  on  the 
instinct  of  the  moment,  seized  her  round  the  waist  in  both 
her  arms,  and  held  her  tight.  It  was  in  vain  for  Madame 
Defarge  to  struggle  and  to  strike;  Miss  Pross,  with  the 
vigorous  tenacity  of  love,  always  so  much  stronger  than 
hate,  clasped  her  tight,  and  even  lifted  her  from  the  floor  in 
the  struggle  that  they  had.  The  two  hands  of  Madame 
Defarge  buffeted  and  tore  her  face;  but,  Miss  Pross,  with 
her  head  down,  held  her  round  the  waist,  and  clung  to  her 
with  more  than  the  hold  of  a  drowning  woman. 

Soon,  Madame  Defarge' s  hands  ceased  to  strike,  and  felt 
at  her  encircled  waist.  "It  is  under  my  arm,"  said  Miss 
Pross,  in  smothered  tones,  "you  shall  not  draw  it.  I  am 
stronger  than  you,  I  bless  Heaven  for  it.  I'll  hold  you  till 
one  or  other  of  us  faints  or  dies !  " 

Madame  Defarge's  hands  were  at  her  bosom.  Miss  Pross 
looked  up,  saw  what  it  was,  struck  at  it,  struck  out  a  flash 
and  a  crash,  and  stood  alone  —  blinded  with  smoke. 

All  this  was  in  a  second.  As  the  smoke  cleared,  leaving 
an  awful  stillness,  it  passed  out  on  the  air,  like  the  soul  of 
the  furious  woman  whose  body  lay  lifeless  on  the  ground. 

In  the  first  fright  and  horror  of  her  situation,  Miss  Pross 
passed  the  body  as  far  from  it  as  she  could,  and  ran  down 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  439 

the  stairs  to  call  for  fruitless  help.  Happily,  she  bethought 
herself  of  the  consequences  of  what  she  did,  in  time  to  check 
herself  and  go  back.  It  was  dreadful  to  go  in  at  the  door 
again ;  but,  she  did  go  in,  and  even  went  near  it,  to  get  the 
bonnet  and  other  things  that  she  must  wear.  These  she 
put  on,  out  on  the  staircase,  first  shutting  and  locking  the 
door  and  taking  away  the  key.  She  then  sat  down  on  the 
stairs  a  few  moments,  to  breathe  and  to  cry,  and  then  got 
up  and  hurried  away. 

By  good  fortune  she  had  a  veil  on  her  bonnet,  or  she 
could  hardly  have  gone  along  the  streets  without  being 
stopped.  By  good  fortune,  too,  she  was  naturally  so  pecu- 
liar in  appearance  as  not  to  show  disfigurement  like  any 
other  woman.  She  needed  both  advantages,  for  the  marks 
of  griping  fingers  were  deep  in  her  face,  and  her  hair  was 
torn,  and  her  dress  (hastily  composed  with  unsteady  hands) 
was  clutched  and  dragged  a  hundred  ways. 

In  crossing  the  bridge,  she  dropped  the  door  key  in  the 
river.  Arriving  at  the  cathedral  some  few  minutes  before 
her  escort,  and  waiting  there,  she  thought,  what  if  the  key 
were  already  taken  in  a  net,  what  if  it  were  identified,  what 
if  the  door  were  opened  and  the  remains  discovered,  what  if 
she  were  stopped  at  the  gate,  sent  to  prison,  and  charged 
with  murder!  In  the  midst  of  these  fluttering  thoughts, 
the  escort  appeared,  took  her  in,  and  took  her  away. 

"Is  there  any  noise  in  the  streets?"  she  asked  him. 

"The  usual  noises,"  Mr.  Cruncher  replied;  and  looked 
surprised  by  the  question  and  by  her  aspect. 

"I  don't  hear  you,"  said  Miss  Pross.  "What  do  you 
say?" 

It  was  in  vain  for  Mr.  Cruncher  to  repeat  what  he  said ; 
Miss  Pross  could  not  hear  him.  "So  I'll  nod  my  head," 
thought  Mr.  Cruncher,  amazed,  "at  all  events  she'll  see 
that."     And  she  did. 


440  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

"Is  there  any  noise  in  the  streets  now?"  asked  Miss 
Pross  again,  presently. 

Again  Mr.  Cruncher  nodded  his  head. 

"I  don't  hear  it." 

"Gone  deaf  in  a  hour?"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  ruminating, 
with  his  mind  much  disturbed;  "wot's  come  to  her?" 

"I  feel,"  said  Miss  Pross,  "as  if  there  had  been  a  flash 
and  a  crash,  and  that  crash  was  the  last  thing  I  should  ever 
hear  in  this  life." 

"  Blest  if  she  ain't  in  a  queer  condition ! "  said  Mr. 
Cruncher,  more  and  more  disturbed.  "Wot  can  she  have 
been  a  takin',  to  keep  her  courage  up?  Hark!  There's  the 
roll  of  them  dreadful  carts!     You  can  hear  that,  miss?" 

"I  can  hear,"  said  Miss  Pross,  seeing  that  he  spoke  to 
her,  "nothing.  0,  my  good  man,  there  was  first  a  great 
crash,  and  then  a  great  stillness,  and  that  stillness  seems  to 
be  fixed  and  unchangeable,  never  to  be  broken  any  more  as 
long  as  my  life  lasts." 

"  If  she  don't  hear  the  roll  of  those  dreadful  carts,  now 
very  nigh  their  journey's  end,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  glancing 
over  his  shoulder,  "  it's  my  opinion  that  indeed  she  never 
will  hear  anything  else  in  this  world." 

And  indeed  she  never  did. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  FOOTSTEPS  DIE  OUT  FOR  EVER. 

Along  the  Paris  streets,  the  death-carts  rumble,  hollow 
and  harsh.  Six  tumbrils  carry  the  day's  wine  to  La 
Guillotine.  All  the  devouring  and  insatiate  Monsters 
imagined  since  imagination  could  record  itself,  are  fused 
in  the  one  realisation,  Guillotine.     And  yet  there  is  not  in 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  441 

France,  with  its  rich  variety  of  soil  and  climate,  a  blade, 
a  leaf,  a  root,  a  sprig,  a  peppercorn,  which  will  grow  to 
maturity  under  conditions  more  certain  than  those  that 
have  produced  this  horror.  Crush  humanity  out  of  shape 
once  more,  under  similar  hammers,  and  it  will  twist  itself 
into  the  same  tortured  forms.  Sow  the  same  seed  of  rapa- 
cious licence  and  oppression  ever  again,  and  it  will  surely 
yield  the  same  fruit  according  to  its  kind. 

Six  tumbrils  roll  along  the  streets.  Change  these  back 
again  to  what  they  were,  thou  powerful  enchanter,  Time, 
and  they  shall  be  seen  to  be  the  carriages  of  absolute 
monarchs,  the  equipages  of  feudal  nobles,  the  toilettes  of 
flaring  Jezabels,  the  churches  that  are  not  my  father's 
house  but  dens  of  thieves,  the  huts  of  millions  of  starving 
peasants !  No ;  the  great  magician  who  majestically  works 
out  the  appointed  order  of  the  Creator,  never  reverses  his 
transformations.  "If  thou  be  changed  into  this  shape  by 
the  will  of  God,"  say  the  seers  to  the  enchanted,  in  the  wise 
Arabian  stories,  "then  remain  so!  But,  if  thou  wear  this 
form  through  mere  passing  conjuration,  then  resume  thy 
former  aspect !  "  Changeless  and  hopeless,  the  tumbrils  roll 
along. 

As  the  sombre  wheels  of  the  six  carts  go  round,  they 
seem  to  plough  up  a  long  crooked  furrow  among  the  popu- 
lace in  the  streets.  Ridges  of  faces  are  thrown  to  this  side 
and  to  that,  and  the  ploughs  go  steadily  onward.  So  used 
are  the  regular  inhabitants  of  the  houses  to  the  spectacle, 
that  in  many  windows  there  are  no  people,  and  in  some  the 
occupation  of  the  hands  is  not  so  much  as  suspended,  while 
the  eyes  survey  the  faces  in  the  tumbrils.  Here  and  there, 
the  inmate  has  visitors  to  see  the  sight;  then  he  points  his 
finger,  with  something  of  the  complacency  of  a  curator  or 
authorised  exponent,  to  this  cart  and  to  this,  and  seems  to 
tell  who  sat  here  yesterday,  and  who  there  the  day  before. 


442  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

Of  the  riders  in  the  tumbrils,  some  observe  these  things, 
and  all  things  on  their  last  roadside,  with  an  impassive 
stare;  others,  with  a  lingering  interest  in  the  ways  of  life 
and  men.  Some,  seated  with  drooping  heads,  are  sunk  in 
silent  despair;  again,  there  are  some  so  heedful  of  their 
looks  that  they  cast  upon  the  multitude  such  glances  as  they 
have  seen  in  theatres,  and  in  pictures.  Several  close  their 
eyes,  and  think,  or  try  to  get  their  straying  thoughts 
together.  Only  one,  and  he  a  miserable  creature  of  a 
crazed  aspect,  is  so  shattered  and  made  drunk  by  horror  that 
he  sings,  and  tries  to  dance.  Not  one  of  the  whole  number 
appeals,  by  look  or  gesture,  to  the  pity  of  the  people. 

There  is  a  guard  of  sundry  horsemen  riding  abreast  of  the 
tumbrils,  and  faces  are  often  turned  up  to  some  of  them  and 
they  are  asked  some  question.  It  would  seem  to  be  always 
the  same  question,  for,  it  is  always  followed  by  a  press  of 
people  towards  the  third  cart.  The  horsemen  abreast  of 
that  cart,  frequently  point  out  one  man  in  it  with  their 
swords.  The  leading  curiosity  is,  to  know  which  is  he;  he 
stands  at  the  back  of  the  tumbril  with  his  head  bent  down, 
to  converse  with  a  mere  girl  who  sits  on  the  side  of  the 
cart,  and  holds  his  hand.  He  has  no  curiosity  or  care  for 
the  scene  about  him,  and  always  speaks  to  the  girl.  Here 
and  there  in  a  long  Street  of  St.  Honore,  cries  are  raised 
against  him.  If  they  move  him  at  all,  it  is  only  to  a  quiet 
smile,  as  he  shakes  his  hair  a  little  more  loosely  about  his 
face.  He  cannot  easily  touch  his  face,  his  arms  being 
bound. 

On  the  steps  of  a  church,  awaiting  the  coming-up  of  the 
tumbrils,  stands  the  Spy  and  prison-sheep.  He  looks  into 
the  first  of  them:  not  there.  He  looks  into  the  second: 
not  there.  He  already  asks  himself,  "Has  he  sacrificed 
me?"  when  his  face  clears,  as  he  looks  into  the  third. 

"Which  is  Evremonde?"  said  a  man  behind  him. 


A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  443 

"  That.     At  the  back  there." 

"With  his  hand  in  the  girl's?" 

"Yes." 

The  man  cries,  "  Down,  Evremonde !  To  the  Guillotine 
all  aristocrats !     Down,  Evremonde !  " 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  the  Spy  entreats  him,  timidly. 

"And  why  not,  citizen?" 

"He  is  going  to  pay  the  forfeit;  it  will  be  paid  in  five 
minutes  more.     Let  him  be  at  peace." 

But,  the  man  continuing  to  exclaim,  "Down,  Evre- 
monde ! "  the  face  of  Evremonde  is  for  a  moment  turned 
towards  him.  Evremonde  then  sees  the  Spy,  and  looks 
attentively  at  him,  and  goes  his  way. 

The  clocks  are  on  the  stroke  of  three,  and  the  furrow 
ploughed  among  the  populace  is  turning  round,  to  come  on 
into  the  place  of  execution,  and  end.  The  ridges  thrown  to 
this  side  and  to  that,  now  crumble  in  and  close  behind  the 
last  plough  as  it  passes  on,  for  all  are  following  to  the 
Guillotine.  In  front  of  it,  seated  in  chairs  as  in  a  garden 
of  public  diversion,  are  a  number  of  women,  busily  knitting. 
On  one  of  the  foremost  chairs,  stands  The  Vengeance,  look- 
ing about  for  her  friend. 

"Therese!"  she  cries,  in  her  shrill  tones.  "Who  has 
seen  her?     Therese  Defarge!  " 

"  She  never  missed  before,"  says  a  knitting-woman  of  the 
sisterhood. 

"No;  nor  will  she  miss  now,"  cries  The  Vengeance, 
petulantly.     "Therese." 

"Louder,"  the  woman  recommends. 

Ay!  Louder,  Vengeance,  much  louder,  and  still  she  will 
scarcely  hear  thee.  Louder  yet,  Vengeance,  with  a  little 
oath  or  so  added,  and  yet  it  will  hardly  bring  her.  Send 
other  women  up  and  down  to  seek  her,  lingering  somewhere: 
and  yet,  although  the  messengers  have  done  dread  deeds,  it 


444  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

is  questionable  whether  of  their  own  wills  they  will  go  far 
enough  to  find  her! 

"  Bad  Fortune !  "  cries  The  Vengeance,  stamping  her  foot 
in  the  chair,  "  and  here  are  the  tumbrils !  And  Evremonde 
will  be  despatched  in  a  wink,  and  she  not  here!  See  her 
knitting  in  my  hand,  and  her  empty  chair  ready  for  her.  I 
cry  with  vexation  and  disappointment !  " 

As  The  Vengeance  descends  from  her  elevation  to  do  it, 
the  tumbrils  begin  to  discharge  their  loads.  The  ministers 
of  Sainte  Guillotine  are  robed  and  ready.  Crash !  —  A  head 
is  held  up,  and  the  knitting-women  who  scarcely  lifted  their 
eyes  to  look  at  it  a  moment  ago  when  it  could  think  and 
speak,  count  One. 

The  second  tumbril  empties  and  moves  on;  the  third 
comes  up.  Crash !  —  And  the  knitting-women,  never  falter- 
ing or  pausing  in  their  work,  count  Two. 

The  supposed  Evremonde  descends,  and  the  seamstress  is 
lifted  out  next  after  him.  He  has  not  relinquished  her 
patient  hand  in  getting  out,  but  still  holds  it  as  he  promised. 
He  gently  places  her  with  her  back  to  the  crashing  engine 
that  constantly  whirrs  up  and  falls,  and  she  looks  into  his 
face  and  thanks  him. 

"  But  for  you,  dear  stranger,  I  should  not  be  so  composed, 
for  I  am  naturally  a  poor  little  thing,  faint  of  heart;  nor 
should  I  have  been  able  to  raise  my  thoughts  to  Him  who 
was  put  to  death,  that  we  might  have  hope  and  comfort  here 
to-day.     I  think  you  were  sent  to  me  by  Heaven." 

"Or  you  to  me,"  says  Sydney  Carton.  "Keep  your  eyes 
upon  me,  dear  child,  and  mind  no  other  object." 

"  I  mind  nothing  while  I  hold  your  hand.  I  shall  mind 
nothing  when  I  let  it  go,  if  they  are  rapid." 

"  They  will  be  rapid.     Fear  not !  " 

The  two  stand  in  the  fast-thinning  throng  of  victims,  but 
they  speak  as  if  they  were  alone.     Eye  to  eye,  voice  to 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  445 

voice,  hand  to  hand,  heart  to  heart,  these  two  children  of 
the  Universal  Mother,  else  so  wide  apart  and  differing,  have 
come  together  on  the  dark  highway,  to  repair  home  together 
and  to  rest  in  her  bosom. 

"  Brave  and  generous  friend,  will  you  let  me  ask  you  one 
last  question?  I  am  very  ignorant,  and  it  troubles 'me  — 
just  a  little." 

"Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"I  have  a  cousin,  an  only  relative  and  an  orphan,  like 
myself,  whom  I  love  very  dearly.  She  is  five  years 
younger  than  I,  ami  she  lives  in  a  farmer's  house  in  the 
south  country.  Poverty  parted  us,  and  she  knows  nothing 
of  my  fate  —  for  I  cannot  write  —  and  if  I  could,  how 
should  I  tell  her!     It  is  better  as  it  is." 

"Yes,  yes:  better  as  it  is." 

"  What  I  have  been  thinking  as  we  came  along,  and  what 
I  am  still  thinking  now,  as  I  look  into  your  kind  strong 
face  which  gives  me  so  much  support,  is  this :  —  If  the 
Republic  really  does  good  to  the  poor,  and  they  come  to  be 
less  hungry,  and  in  all  ways  to  suffer  less,  she  may  live  a 
long  time;  she  may  even  live  to  be  old." 

"What  then,  my  gentle  sister?" 

"  Do  you  think :  "  the  uncomplaining  eyes  in  which  there 
is  so  much  endurance,  fill  with  tears,  and  the  lips  part  a 
little  more  and  tremble:  "that  it  will  seem  long  to  me, 
while  I  wait  for  her  in  the  better  land  where  I  trust  both 
you  and  I  will  be  mercifully  sheltered?" 

"It  cannot  be,  my  child;  there  is  no  Time  there,  and  no 
trouble  there." 

"  You  comfort  me  so  much !  I  am  so  ignorant.  Am  I  to 
kiss  you  now?     Is  the  moment  come?" 

"Yes." 

She  kisses  his  lips;  he  kisses  hers;  they  solemnly  bless 
each  other.     The  spare  hand  does  not  tremble  as  he  releases 


446  A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 

it ;  nothing  worse  than  a  sweet,  bright  constancy  is  in  the 
patient  face.  She  goes  next  before  him  —  is  gone;  the 
knitting-women  count  Twenty-Two. 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  saith  the  Lord :  he 
that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he 
live :  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me,  shall  never 
die." 

The  murmuring  of  many  voices,  the  upturning  of  many 
faces,  the  pressing  on  of  many  footsteps  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd,  so  that  it  swells  forward  in  a  mass,  like  one 
great  heave  of  water,  all  flashes  away.     ^Twenty-Three. 


They  said  of  him,  about  the  city  that  night,  that  it  was 
the  peacefullest  man's  face  ever  beheld  there.  Many  added 
that  he  looked  sublime  and  prophetic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  sufferers  by  the  same  axe  — 
a  woman  —  had  asked  at  the  foot  of  the  same  scaffold,  not 
long  before,  to  be  allowed  to  write  down  the  thoughts  that 
were  inspiring  her.  If  he  had  given  any  utterance  to  his, 
and  they  were  prophetic,  they  would  have  been  these : 

"I  see  Barsad,  and  Cly,  Defarge,  The  Vengeance,  the 
Juryman,  the  Judge,  long  ranks  of  the  new  oppressors  who 
have  risen  on  the  destruction  of  the  old,  perishing  by  this 
retributive  instrument,  before  it  shall  cease  out  of  its  pres- 
ent use.  I  see  a  beautiful  city  and  a  brilliant  people  rising 
from  this  abyss,  and,  in  their  struggles  to  be  truly  free,  in 
their  triumphs  and  defeats,  through  long  long  years  to 
come,  I  see  the  evil  of  this  time  and  of  the  previous  time  of 
which  this  is  the  natural  birth,  gradually  making  expiation 
for  itself  and  wearing  out. 

"  I  see  the  lives  for  which  I  lay  down  my  life,  peaceful, 
useful,  prosperous  and  happy,  in  that  England  which  I 
shall  see  no  more.     I  see  Her  with  a  child  upon  her  bosom, 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES.  447 

who  bears  my  name.  I  see  her  father,  aged  and  bent,  but 
otherwise  restored,  and  faithful  to  all  men  in  his  healing 
office,  and  at  peace.  I  see  the  good  old  man,  so  long  their 
friend,  in  ten  years'  time  enriching  them  with  all  he  has, 
and  passing  tranquilly  to  his  reward. 

"  I  see  that  I  hold  a  sanctuary  in  their  hearts,  and  in  the 
hearts  of  their  descendants,  generations  hence.  I  see  her, 
an  old  woman,  weeping  for  me  on  the  anniversary  of  this 
day.  I  see  her  and  her  husband,  their  course  done,  lying 
side  by  side  in  their  last  earthly  bed,  and  I  know  that  each 
was  not  more  honoured  and  held  sacred  in  the  other's  soul, 
than  I  was  in  the  souls  of  both. 

"  I  see  that  child  who  lay  upon  her  bosom  and  who  bore 
my  name,  a  man,  winning  his  way  up  in  that  path  of  life 
which  once  was  mine.  I  see  him  winning  it  so  well,  that 
my  name  is  made  illustrious  there  by  the  light  of  his.  I 
see  the  blots  I  threw  upon  it,  faded  away.  I  see  him,  fore- 
most of  just  judges  and  honoured  men,  bringing  a  boy  of 
my  name,  with  a  forehead  that  I  know  and  golden  hair,  to 
this  place  —  then  fair  to  look  upon,  with  not  a  trace  of  this 
day's  disfigurement  —  and  I  hear  him  tell  the  child  my 
story,  with  a  tender  and  a  faltering  voice. 

"  It  is  a  far,  far  better  thing  that  I  do,  than  I  have  ever 
done ;  it  is  a  far,  far  better  rest  that  I  go  to,  than  I  have 
ever  known." 


NOTES. 


Page  1.  Chapter  I.  What  is  the  value  of  such  an  introductory 
chapter  as  this  ?  Does  the  tone  of  the  chapter  tell  you  anything  about 
Dickens  or  about  the  tone  of  the  rest  of  the  book  ?  —  King  with  a 
large  jaw,  etc. :  George  III,  known  to  every  American  and  misjudged 
by  a  good  many  of  them  ;  his  queen  was  Charlotte,  who  was  fat  and 
homely.  In  France  the  king  and  queen  were  Louis  XVI  and  Marie 
Antoinette,  both  of  whom  were  subsequently  guillotined. — Loaves 
and  fishes.    To  what  is  the  allusion  ? 

2.  Mrs.  Southcott :  an  English  maidservant  who  founded  a  new 
religious  sect  and  pretended  to  perform  miracles ;  she  was  born  in 
1750.  —  Cock-lane  ghost:  a  famous  imposture,  which  deceived  for  a 
time  even  the  shrewd  and  sensible  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson.  The  trick  was 
discovered  and  its  perpetrator  put  in  the  pillory  in  1762.  —  Mere  mes- 
sages .  .  .  had  lately  come  .  .  .  from  a  congress.  The  colonists  were 
protesting  against  ''taxation  without  representation."  —  Shield  and 
trident :  the  insignia  of  Neptune,  god  of  the  ocean.  England  is  sup- 
posed to  bear  them  in  her  character  of  "  mistress  of  the  seas." 

3.  Tumbrils  :  rough  carts  in  which,  during  the  Reign  of  Terror  in 
Paris,  the  condemned  were  carried  to  execution.  —  "  The  Captain  "  : 
a  noted  highwayman  of  the  time  ;  see  p.  6.  —  St.  Giles's :  a  well- 
known  London  slum. 

4.  Westminster  Hall :  where  trials  for  treason  were  conducted, 
and  at  the  door  of  which  treasonable  pamphlets  were  burned.  — 
Shooter's  Hill :  eight  miles  from  London,  southeast ;  it  is  about  450 
feet  high. 

Chapter  II.  What  is  the  purpose  of  this  chapter?  How  does  it 
affect  the  plot  ?    Why  is  the  "  message  "  left  unexplained  ? 

5.  Blackheath  :  a  common,  three  miles  from  Shooter's  Hill. 
7.    Skid  :  i.e.  brace. 

11.  Temple-bar:  an  old  gateway  in  the  heart  of  London,  dividing 
Fleet  Street  from  the  Strand.  It  has  now  been  taken  down.  Of  old 
the  heads  of  political  criminals  were  exposed  to  view  on  spikes  above 
it.    See  p.  59. 

Chapter  III.  Has  this  chapter  unity,  that  is,  is  it  all  about  one 
subject  ?    Cf .  "  recalled  to  life  "  and  "  buried  alive  eighteen  years." 

449 


450  NOTES. 

Do  you  see  any  advance  in  the  plot  ?  Does  the  opening  paragraph 
help  the  story  ?    Why  is  it  put  in  ? 

12.  As  if  they  were  afraid,  etc.  This  is  a  kind  of  figure  of  which 
Dickens  is  exceedingly  fond.  See  the  mention  of  leapfrog  on  the 
opposite  page.  He  does  not  use  it  so  often  in  the  Tale  of  Two  Cities 
as  in  his  other  books,  but  many  examples  may  be  found  even  here. 

20.  Small  tradesmen,  etc.  :  in  other  words,  smuggling  was  exten- 
sively carried  on. 

22.   Dead  Sea  fruit :  i.e.  tasteless,  without  life. 

24.  Beauvais  :  a  small  city  northwest  of  Paris  about  forty  miles. 

25.  An  immense  pecuniary  Mangle.  A  mangle  was  a  machine 
formerly  used  for  smoothing  clothes  ;  it  corresponded  to  the  modern 
wringer. 

26.  The  privilege  of  filling  up  blank  forms.  It  was  very  common 
for  the  French  kings  to  sign  blank  forms  of  arrest,  called  lettres  de 
cachet,  and  distribute  them  to  their  favorites.  The  latter  could  then, 
of  course,  fill  in  a  form  with  the  name  of  any  one  they  chose  and  so 
secure  his  imprisonment. 

29.  Laying  a  brawny  hand.  Is  this  mention  of  Miss  Pross's 
strength  meaningless,  or  made  purposely  ? 

32.  Suburb  of  St.  Antoine.  At  the  time  of  the  Revolution  this 
part  of  Paris,  which  bordered  on  the  famous  prison  of  the  Bastille 
so  often  mentioned  in  this  story,  was  one  of  the  poorest  and  most 
dangerous  quarters  of  the  city.  St.  Antoine  was  therefore  called  "  the 
patron  saint  of  Revolution." 

34.    Kennel:  eighteenth-century  word  for  "gutter." 

37.    In  that  galley.   French  dans  cette  galere — a  slang  phrase. 

51-52.    What  do  you  think  of  these  speeches  of  Lucie's  ? 

Chapter  V.  What  is  the  significance  of  the  introduction  of  the 
broken  wine  cask  ? 

End  of  Book  I.  Why  does  Dickens  divide  his  story  here  ?  Is  there 
as  yet  any  hint  of  the  final  outcome  ?  Is  this  to  be  a  humorous  story 
or  a  tragedy  ?  How  do  you  know  ?  Who  is  the  leading  figure  of  the 
first  book?  Have  we  had  any  episodic  chapters,  or  has  the  story 
moved  steadily  ? 

Chapter  I,  Book  II.  This  is  an  episodic  chapter,  i.e.  it  does  not 
forward  the  main  plot.    Note  why. 

59.  The  story  of  the  Barmecide  may  be  found  in  the  Arabian 
Nights  Entertainments. 

66.  Old  Bailey :  the  principal  criminal  court  of  London  ;  on  New 
Gate  Street  near  St.  Paul's. 

67.  Tyburn.   Executions  were  held  at  Tyburn  until  1783. 


NOTES.  451 

68.    Bedlam:  the  principal  insane  asylum  of  London. 

Chapter  III.  The  two  principal  male  characters  of  the  story  are 
introduced  in  this  chapter.  Who  are  they  ?  Can  you  point  out  any 
special  circumstance  of  probable  bearing  on  the  outcome  of  the  plot  ? 

98.  Sessions,  King's  Bench.  The  Sessions  is  one  of  the  lower 
English  criminal  courts  ;  the  King's  Bench  is  the  highest. 

99.  Hilary  Term  and  Michaelmas:  January  11  to  September  29; 
includes  *he  four  terms  during  which  cases  were  presented  in  English 
courts. 

100.  Jeffries  :  George  Jeffreys  (1648-1689),  Baron  and  Chief  Justice 
of  England  ;  a  man  of  vile  habits,  who  was  known  as  the  "  Hanging 
Judge,"  from  his  relentless  cruelty,  especially  after  the  Monmouth 
expedition. 

104.  A  well  of  houses :  houses  built  round  a  small  inner  court, 
like  a  well. 

106.  Paupers  without  a  settlement.  A  poor  man  in  England 
must  be  taken  care  of  by  the  parish  in  which  he  has  resided,  i.e.  made 
a  settlement.    If  he  wanders  into  another  parish  he  has  no  claim  on  it. 

119.  Perhaps,  etc.  This  is  one  of  Dickens's  rather  obvious  and  yet 
very  effective  devices  for  maintaining  the  reader  in  suspense. 

121.  Comedy  and  Grand  Opera.  The  reference  is  to  the  actresses, 
not  to  the  authors.  —  The  merry  Stuart  who  sold  it.  See  Macaulay, 
History  of  England,  Chapter  II.  "The  king  of  England  (Charles  II) 
offered  to  join  with  France  against  Holland,  if  France  would  engage 
to  lend  him  such  military  and  pecuniary  aid  as  might  make  him  inde- 
pendent of  his  parliament."  This  agreement  was  ratified  by  the  secret 
treaty  of  Dover  in  1670.  —  The  earth  and  the  fulness.  1  Cor.  x.  26. 
—  Farmer-General :  a  tax  collector  ;  one  who  paid  the  government  a 
certain  sum  in  return  for  the  privilege  of  collecting  the  taxes,  which 
were  thus  said  to  be  "  farmed  out "  to  him. 

122.  Notre-Dame  :  the  most  famous  and  perhaps  the  most  beauti- 
ful, though  not  the  largest,  of  the  churches  of  Paris.  It  is  on  the  lie 
de  la  Cite-  (see  note  to  p.  373). 

132.  The  Furies  :  in  Greek  myth,  daughters  of  Night  and  Dark- 
ness, and  the  avengers  of  all  wrong  ;  supposed  to  be  women  with  ter- 
rible faces  and  long  snaky  hair. 

137.  The  Gorgon's  head.  In  Greek  mythology  the  Gorgons  were 
three  hideous  sisters  with  snakes  for  hair,  one  look  from  whom  would 
turn  a  man  to  stone. 

138.  The  line  that  was  never  to  break.  The  king  of  France  at  the 
time  of  the  Revolution  was  a  Bourbon,  of  which  house  it  had  been 
prophesied  that  it  should  hold  the  throne  of  France  forever. 


452  NOTES. 

141.    Letter  de  cachet.     See  note  to  p.  26. 

150.  The  German  ballad  :  a  poem  very  popular  in  England  about 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Sir  Walter  Scott's  first  published 
work  was  a  translation  of  it,  called  William  and  Helen.  Helen  is  car- 
ried off  on  horseback  by  the  skeleton  specter  of  her  lover. 

160.  Double  tides  :  long  hours  ;  in  allusion  to  working,  as  fisher- 
men and  seamen  sometimes  must,  by  the  night  tide  as  well  as  by  the 
day. 

165.  Michaelmas  Term.    See  note  to  p.  99. 

Chapters  XII  and  XIII.  Do  these  chapters,  strictly  speaking,  ad- 
vance the  story  ?    "What  is  their  purpose  ? 

166.  Vauxhall  Gardens,  Ranelagh  :  popular  places  of  amusement 
in  London  in  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century  ;  they  were 
something  like  the  concert  gardens  in  large  American  cities.  Both 
Vauxhall  and  Ranelagh  were  closed  soon  after  1800.  — St.  Dunstan's. 
Dunstan  was  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  in  the  tenth  century  and  was 
afterwards  made  a  saint.  A  statue  to  him  ornamented  the  city,  or 
inner,  side  of  Temple  Bar. 

179.  The  heathen  rustic  .  .  .  watching  the  stream:  an  allusion 
to  the  story  of  a  countryman  who,  wishing  to  cross  a  river,  sat  down 
to  wait  till  the  water  should  have  run  by. 

180.  A  poet  sat  upon  a  stool.  Such  is  said  to  have  been  the  custom 
among  the  Athenians. 

187.  Izaak  Walton  :  the  author  of  The  Compleat  Angler,  the  most 
famous  book  on  the  art  of  fishing.  He  is  called  the  patron  saint  of 
fishermen. 

190.  Clay-soiled  boots.    See  p.  62. 

191.  A  Resurrection-Man :  one  who  makes  a  trade  of  digging  up 
bodies  to  sell  to  surgeons  for  anatomical  purposes ;  later  called  a 
"body  snatcher.,, 

199.  Damiens.  Robert  Damiens  attempted  to  assassinate  Louis 
XV  in  1757.  He  succeeded  in  stabbing  the  king,  though  not  in  killing 
him,  and  was  actually  executed  in  the  manner  Dickens  describes. 

204.  Shining  Bull's  Eye  of  their  Court.  A  bull's-eye  is  a  kind  of 
lantern.  Dickens  means  here  that  the  court  is  particularly  vivid  in 
contrast  with  the  darkness  and  misery  of  the  people  of  France. 

Chapter  XVI.    Has  this  chapter  any  bearing  on  the  main  story  ? 

209.  Jacquerie:  the  people.  Cf.  Jacques  One,  Two,  Three,  etc., 
who  are  mentioned  in  Chapter  V,  Book  I. 

253.  The  Bastille :  the  most  celebrated  prison  in  France,  begun 
in  1370,  and  added  to  at  intervals  thereafter.  It  was  always  used  as  a 
civil,  not  as  a  military,  prison.  The  mob  of  the  French  Revolution  hated 


NOTES.  453 

the  Bastille  worse  than  any  other  symbol  of  their  long  oppression.  It 
was  attacked  and  captured  on  July  14,  1789,  and  destroyed  on  July  14 
of  the  following  year.  A  most  dramatic  and  vigorous  account  of  its 
fall  may  be  found  in  Carlyle,  which  the  student  should  read  for  his 
own  pleasure.    July  14  is  still  the  great  Parisian  holiday. 

255.  South  Sea:  the  Pacific  Ocean,  so  called  in  England  until 
about  a  hundred  years  ago. 

258.  The  governor.  The  commandant  of  the  Bastille  was  called 
the  governor  of  the  prison.    Delaunay  was  governor  when  it  fell. 

259.  Hotel  de  Ville :  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  beautiful  buildings 
in  Paris.  The  trials  throughout  the  Revolution  were  largely  held  there. 

261.  Foulon :  Foulon  was  a  French  money  lender  whom  the  people 
hated,  partly  for  his  conspiracies  with  the  nobility  and  partly  for  the 
reason  Dickens  speaks  of  here.  They  tore  him  to  pieces  on  July  22, 
1789,  when  he  was  seventy-four  years  old.  Dickens  tells  the  story  as 
it  is  told  by  Carlyle  (French  Revolution,  Book  I,  Chapter  IX). 

265.  The  son-in-law  of  the  despatched:  i.e.  of  Foulon.  This  son- 
in-law  was  a  man  named  Berthier,  a  tax  levier,  who  was  captured  and 
killed  on  the  same  day  as  Foulon. 

267.  Monseigneur.  A  French  nobleman  of  the  period  was  usually 
addressed  as  monseigneur  (my  lord).  Dickens  uses  the  title  here, 
therefore,  as  a  symbol  for  the  whole  nobility. 

276.  Sardanapalus's  luxury.  Sardanapalus  was  the  last  of  the 
great  Assyrian  kings  and  the  grandson  of  Sennacherib.  His  reign  was 
extraordinary  in  its  splendor,  but  by  the  time  of  his  death  in  626  b.  c. 
the  Assyrian  kingdom  showed  signs  of  decay,  and  twenty  years  later 
it  was  overthrown. 

284.  The  Abbaye.  The  Abbaye,  La  Force,  and  La  Conciergerie 
were  the  three  principal  prisons  of  Paris  after  the  Bastille.  In  this 
letter  note  the  curious  effect  of  the  language.  It  is  the  French  idiom, 
literally  translated  into  English.  Both  Dickens  and  Thackeray  not 
infrequently  use  this  device  to  secure  a  realistic  effect. 

Book  II.  Is  Book  II  as  unified  as  Book  I,  as  simple  in  structure  ? 
Part  of  the  outcome  of  the  story  can  be  already  foreseen.  How  much  ? 
Why  is  Book  II  ended  at  this  particular  point  ?  Is  there  any  more  of 
a  break  than,  say,  after  Lucie's  marriage  ?  Why  did  not  Dickens 
close  one  book  there  ? 

297.  La  Guillotine.  The  guillotine  was  the  universal  method  of 
execution  at  Paris  during  the  Revolution.  It  consisted  of  a  large  knife 
fixed  in  a  heavy  plank  fitted  into  a  tall  scaffolding  and  sliding  in 
grooves.  The  victim  was  stretched  at  full  length  upon  a  platform,  a 
catch  was  released,  and  the  knife,  falling,  severed  his  head  from  his 


454  NOTES. 

body.    The  machine  was  named  from  its  inventor,  a  Dr.  Guillotine, 
who  is  said  to  have  perished  by  it.    See  p.  323. 
297.    Prison  of  La  Force.    See  note  to  p.  284. 

304.  Saint  Germain  Quarter :  a  fashionable  quarter  of  Paris  before 
the  Revolution.  —  His  metempsychosis  :  his  changed  condition. 

305.  Into  the  Gazette  :  among  the  lists  of  bankrupts. 

318.  Eleven  hundred.  These  were  the  victims  of  what  were  sub- 
sequently called  the  Massacres  of  September  (September  2-6,  1792). 
Danton  ordered,  or  permitted  the  committee  of  surveillance  to  order, 
these  frightful  massacres.  A  band  of  four  or  five  hundred  assassins, 
hired  by  the  Commune,  took  possession  of  the  prisons.  Some  of  them 
constituted  themselves  a  tribunal ;  others  served  as  executioners.  The 
prisoners  were  called,  and  after  a  few  questions  they  were  put  at 
liberty  or  led  into  the  courtyard  of  the  prison  and  dispatched  with 
sabers,  pikes,  axes,  and  clubs.  The  number  of  killed  amounted  to 
nine  hundred  and  sixty-six  {Century  Dictionary).  It  was  these  massa- 
cres, with  the  killing  of  the  king  in  the  January  following,  that 
particularly  alienated  England  from  the  cause  of  the  Revolutionists. 

322.  The  new  Era  began.  France  was  declared  a  republic  and  the 
king  was  beheaded  as  a  traitor  in  the  early  days  of  1793.  The  motto 
of  the  new  Republic  was,  and  is,  Liberty,  Egalite",  Fraternite-  —  Liberty, 
Equality,  Brotherhood.  The  calendar  was  revised  and  France  began 
to  reckon  from  the  Year  One  of  the  Republic. 

327.  Sanson.  Sanson  was  the  chief  executioner  throughout  the 
Reign  of  Terror.    He  beheaded  both  the  king  and  the  queen. 

330.  The  Carmagnole.  The  Qa  Ira  was  the  popular  Parisian  song, 
the  Carmagnole  the  popular  dance  of  the  Revolution. 

344.  Confound  their  politics,  etc.  The  words  are  from  one  of  the 
stanzas  of  the  English  national  anthem. 

347.  Tuileries :  the  great  palace  of  Louis  XIV,  on  the  site  of  the 
old  Parisian  potteries  {tuileries).  — Pont-Neuf  :  a  bridge  over  the  Seine 
near  the  Louvre. 

361.  Once  more!  One  of  Dickens's  most  constant  devices  is 
repetition.  When  he  has  made  a  good  point  he  likes  to  work  it 
in  often. 

365.  Bring  the  price  down  to  porterage  :  i.e.  the  price  received  for 
the  bodies  will  hardly  pay  for  the  cost  of  carrying  them. 

370.   Chemist's  shop  :  a  drug  store. 

371-373.    What  is  the  purpose  of  these  pages  ? 

373.  Island  of  Paris  :  the  lie  de  la  Cite,  or  Island  of  the  City, 
the  largest  island  in  the  Seine ;  it  contains  the  great  Cathedral  of 
Notre  Dame. 


NOTES.  455 

385.  We  were  so  robbed.  What  do  you  think  of  the  naturalness 
of  this  speech  ?  —  Chapter  X.  This  is  one  of  Dickens's  few  successful 
short  stories.  It  is  complete  in  itself,  well  constructed,  and  remarkably 
powerful. 

402.  Jacobin  journal.  The  Jacobins  (so-called  from  the  convent  of 
the  Jacobin  monks,  wherein  they  met)  were  a  party  in  the  Revolution 
led  by  Robespierre,  and  chiefly  responsible  for  the  Reign  of  Terror  of 
1792-1793. 

404.  I  communicate  to  him  that  secret,  etc.  Does  this  seem  a 
part  of  the  plot  foreseen  by  Dickens  or  an  afterthought  ?  Is  it  needed  ? 
Is  it  effective  ? 

422.  Why  does  Dickens  interrupt  the  fate  of  Sidney  Carton  here 
to  tell  of  the  escape  of  the  Darnays  ? 

424.  Posting-house :  when  travel  is  by  post,  that  is  by  relays  of 
horses,  each  village  has  a  house  where  a  supply  of  horses  is  kept  ready 
for  travelers.    This  is  called  the  "  posting-house." 

432.  What  is  Dickens's  motive  in  introducing  humor  here  in  the 
midst  of  tragedy? 

436.  Bed-winches :  wrenches  formerly  used  in  setting  up  and 
taking  down  beds. 

441.  Jezabels.  Jezebel,  the  wife  of  Ahab,  king  of  Israel,  was  a 
wicked  woman  whose  name  has  come  to  be  a  synonym  of  evil.  Dickens 
misspells  it  here.  — Not  my  father's  house,  etc.  From  Christ's  speech 
to  the  money-changers  in  the  Temple.  Matt.  xxi.  13;  John  ii.  16. — 
The  wise  Arabian  stories :  the  Arabian  Nights.  See  Introduction. 
Such  allusions  to  literature,  though  common  in  many  novelists,  as 
Thackeray  and  George  Eliot,  are  very  rare  in  Dickens. 

446.  Twenty-Three.  What  does  Dickens  gain  by  suggesting  the 
death  of  Carton,  rather  than  saying  outright  that  he  was  killed  ?  —  One 
of  the  most  remarkable  sufferers :  Jeanne,  commonly  called  Madame 
Roland,  wife  of  Roland  de  la  Platiere.    She  was  guillotined  late  in  1793. 

446-447.  Are  the  final  paragraphs  after  the  word  "Twenty- 
Three  "  an  advantage  or  a  disadvantage  to  the  story  ? 


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